


Try On Some Pride For A Day

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Reminiscing, a squabble, actual communication but only when they try really really hard, and indian food, but not explicit i dont think, crowley doesnt know what temperence means, crowley thinks about sex, domestic familiarity, fond sarcasm, gets a bit hot and heavy, have i said miscommunication already?, heartfelt admissions of love over tea and desserts, i mean sheesh, its just a good make out sess, miscommunication of the highest order, more kissing, post not apocalypse, some talk of the black plague, they make up over wine and scones, unauthorised use of miracles, we throw some shade at shem, yeah def not actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Set two months after the nopocalypse, Aziraphale challenges Crowley to try and tempt him into each of the seven deadly sins. Post not-apocalypse, lots of pining and miscommunication and references to their past and sorting out some feelings. All that good stuff. Happy ending, which is mostly written so stick with me as I finish the last chapter!!I'll add tags as I upload each chapter, so those may change. It gets a bit saucy later, around chapter 4 or so, so check those tags if you're not sure about things, but I think it's p chill overall. I've had a chuckle writing this





	1. Gluttony and Charity

“I was thinking.” Aziraphale’s voice pierced the gentle silence that had fallen over the two of them. He sounded stressed, which in Crowley’s experience usually meant nothing was wrong.

“Hmm?” Crowley vocalised vaguely.

Aziraphale wrung his hands, looking down at the uninterested demon on the couch before him. “Well, I’m an angel.”

“Are you?” Crowley asked mildly. He was playing Candy Crush™ on his phone, it held no interest for him but it seemed like the kind of pass time he should take part in.

Aziraphale sighed, his hands flying apart as he gesticulated his unspoken exasperation at Crowley’s disengagement. “That’s the thing, I’m not so sure if I am now, you see, they did say-”

“You’re an angel,” Crowley interrupted. He hadn’t moved his head and kept swiping the phone screen, although behind his glasses his eyes were now fiercely trained on Aziraphale. If Aziraphale were inclined to study Crowley he may notice that his finger was swiping at random, his moves not translating to the game on his phone. But Aziraphale was staunchly avoiding looking too closely at Crowley right now, instead he focused on his sleeve end, checking it for frays that were certainly not there, 

“They said I’d fallen,” he mumbled, a note of true sadness beating through his recent cavalier attitude towards Heaven.

“They’re wrong.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was now facing him in full, his intensity palpable despite his sunglasses. After a beat Aziraphale nodded, swallowing hard.

Crowley took the hint to drop it and looked back at his phone and found that due to his mindless swiping he’d lost the game and accidentally spent $17 on in game microtransactions. Aziraphale sat next to Crowley on the couch, leaning in a smidge as he eagerly returned to the topic at hand.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though. I was thinking,” Aziraphale said properly.

“You mentioned,” Crowley said, disengaged again as he tried to cancel the purchase. It seemed impossible, which, considering the architect (himself), was likely.

“Yes,” Aziraphale began, “And I thought- well I wondered, really, because I don’t think I can do much worse here than they think I’ve already done,” he continued bravely in the face of Crowley’s growing glare. “Because really they were so annoyed with the whole- the whole apocalypse thing and now they’re ignoring me and _ maybe  _ I can try it out-”

“Your point, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale faced him. “I want to try them.”

“What’s them?”

“You know, gluttony and pride and… and the others,” Aziraphale trailed off, a small blush forming as Crowley’s surprise became evident.

Aziraphale now held Crowley’s full, unadulterated attention. He’d thought Aziraphale’s small foray into active sinning the night before they hadn’t burned and drowned had been just that - an isolated incident.

“You want to try out the seven deadly sins?” He squeaked.

Aziraphale held up a hand, indicating the smallest of amounts. “Just a small dose,” he whined.

Crowley flung his hands out, his phone flying across the room and luckily (an inadvertent miracle) landing on a cushion. Delicate things, these phones now. “Just take envy for a spin,” Crowley shouted sarcastically. Don’t mention lust, Crowley told himself sternly, can’t mention lust. “Try on some pride for a day!”

Aziraphale cringed. “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

“By definition, yes, but I’m not sure it’s a bad idea,” Crowley said contradictingly.

“It is bad, though, they’re the sins.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

Crowley looked at him for a few seconds longer than it took Aziraphale to get uncomfortable. He squirmed under the demons heated stare, wondering what he was thinking, wondering how bad this conversation could go, wondering if there was enough wine here to suppress his cowardice.

Crowley was one for tempting others. He never pushed it, especially not with Aziraphale, but the angel was literally asking for it, so… very well. “You already fit the bill for a few,” Crowley said with a faux casual air.

Aziraphale was shocked. He faced Crowley, his outrage evident in every fibre of his body. “I do not!” He said with a righteous assurance. 

Crowley raised as eyebrow, seeming to look down on him despite being lower on the couch due to his slouch. “Fine,” he drawled after some consideration. There were some things he couldn't say, but there were others things he could. “Oh, I saw a box of chocolates lying around, would you like some?” He offered off hand.

Aziraphale’s mood switched instantly. “Ooh, yes please!”

“Gluttony!” Crowley cried dramatically, pointing victoriously at Aziraphale.

“How dare you!” Aziraphale bristled.

Crowley threw his hands open in a show of innocence that utterly failed to convince either of them. “I don’t think it’s a problem, angel, but it’s true.”

“I don’t eat too much,” Aziraphale said primly. He pulled his vest down, straightening his back proudly and remember the amount of oysters he and Crowley ate in Rome with a touch of shame. And the tacos in Mexico that one time. And last week at the British Museum Café. “At least, not often,” he corrected.

“You don’t need to eat at all, therefore anything you eat is gluttonous.”

“You eat!” Aziraphale said pointedly, keen to not stay on the defensive. “You drink more than me, too.”

“I fell,” Crowley drawled smugly. He relaxed into the couch to make a show of how comfortable and evil he could look.

Aziraphale groaned in a mix of exasperation and amusement at being so out done. “Oh, yes, well,” he trailed off, glancing at Crowley’s new position rapturously.

Crowley fidgeted, uncomfortable with the new comfortable slouch he’d taken. He threw himself off the couch and sauntered over to the drinks cabinet, pulling two bottles and a pair of wine glasses out. He managed to handle them with a deft assurance and competence that meant he could pour both glasses as he returned to the couch, passing one to Aziraphale as he sat back down.

They sat silently for a short while, enjoying the drink. “You said a few?” Aziraphale prompted after the smarting hurt of Crowley’s initial point had worn off and he’d begun to appreciate the possible truth behind it. Gluttony wasn’t too bad if you appreciated the effort that went into what you ate.

Crowley chuckled. “I think I’ve insulted you enough for one night,” he murmured.

“No, go on.”

Crowley seemed to deflate under Aziraphale’s hopeful and slightly challenging eyes. “Sloth and pride,” he said tiredly.

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed, his reaction so physical he should’ve spilt some of his wine, but oddly it seemed inspired to stay in the glass despite physics. “How am I sloth? I- I’ve been far more active than you- than you  _ ever _ -”

“Again, angel, I‘m not a comparison to draw from,” Crowley said without any apology in his tone.

Aziraphale was deeply affronted, again. “I run a small business, you know, that takes a lot of time and- and- I can’t believe you!” His tone was reminiscent of a teacher scolding a child for the hundredth time, although with more surprise than any such teacher would have. “The cheek!”

Crowley rolled his eyes, the movement grand enough that Aziraphale could identify it despite not being able to see his eyes. “The bookshop is where pride comes in, and our whole Arrangement was steeped in sloth, darling,” he said, stressing the last word sarcastically.

For the second time in five minutes, Aziraphale bristled. “Do not call me that when I’m angry with you,” he snapped.

“Shall we tick wrath off already, then?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

“No!”

“Where’s this come from?” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale as he seemed to swell, ready to unleash another short burst of annoyed words. “Why would you want to?”

Aziraphale huffed at him, then took a sip of wine to help calm him. “I’m not really an angel anymore, am I?” Crowley sighed, leaning in with something adjacent to pity. “You _are_,” he urged.

“But not really.”

“Azira-”

“I haven't fallen," Aziraphale talked over him. “But I can’t go back.”

Crowley acknowledged this with an unwilling air and an unspoken promise to never believe it.

Aziraphale continued unhindered. “And I don’t mean to take them on as guidelines, but just to understand what it’s like, you know, what I’ve been thwarting all these millennia.”

Crowley shrugged. “Curiosity’s a virtue,” he said sardonically.

Aziraphale perked up, excited to share an interesting thought. Crowley suddenly felt like he’d been hoodwinked. “It’s not,” Aziraphale said with an air of great pleasure. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to try the seven virtues out for a-”

“No,” Crowley said immediately.

“Just a taste,” Aziraphale said with a hint of either longing or a whinge, you can never be quite sure.

“I’m not interested.”

Aziraphale smirked slightly. “Humility would look good on you,” he mumbled into his wine glass.

Crowley fumed quietly for a moment, clearly deciding on the level of tact he wanted to embody. “Screw you,” he finally said. Not much tact, then.

Aziraphale hummed to himself, then decided to push his luck. With a level of joy that could offend the staunchest of men, he smartly insulted Crowley right back. “I rather think you have a few under your wings alr-”

“Alright, stop, stop, shut up,” Crowley said loudly. “I’ll help you with your exploration of sins if you promise to  _ shut up  _ about the seven virtues.”

Aziraphale almost swayed with delight. “I make no promises-”

“Aziraphale-” Crowley hissed.

“Okay,” he said quickly. He glanced at Crowley cheekily. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a minute before Crowley chuckled, throwing a glance at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled back at him, always happy to forgive. Crowley didn’t apologise, not in so many words, so Aziraphale had gotten used to the kinds of behaviours that he received in lieu, and a chuckle would do.

Crowley surprised him, however, by reaching behind the couch and pulling a box of chocolates from the air. He passed them to Aziraphale sheepishly. “I felt bad teasing you,” he explained.

Aziraphale beamed and took the chocolates without question, closing his eyes with a satisfied thrill as the soft centre of the chocolate spilled through his mouth. 

Crowley smiled warmly at Aziraphale, although not for the reasons you may think. You see, Crowley had tuned into a certain perception of the world that let him read the presence and strength of any of the sins, and at this moment a metaphoric thermometer was filling with metaphoric mercury to indicate a very real presence of gluttony in the room.

Aziraphale’s grin earlier hadn’t been one of gratitude either, although Crowley may think it was. No, he had begun focusing on the seven virtues and as Crowley had handed over the box of chocolates a distant bell which was more a simile than a metaphor rang to indicate a sudden spike of charity in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gluttony, it turns out, has a list of subcategories some guy spent some time figuring out.   
Laute – eating too expensively  
Studiose – eating too daintily  
Nimis – eating too much  
Praepropere – eating too soon  
Ardenter – eating too eagerly
> 
> Of these, the last is apparently the worst because it’s basically eating for eatings sake. I figure this is exactly Aziraphale, so he’d fall to this one real quick
> 
> Charity has a couple synonyms on wikipedia for ease of understanding, so I figured if Crowley fulfilled any of these he’d be considered charitable. We’ve got will, benevolence, generosity, and sacrifice. If nothing else, constantly being the one to do small miracles simply for Aziraphale’s pleasure must be generous.


	2. Pride and Diligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one Crowley gives himself a soft ball and Aziraphale enjoys the fruits of both their labours

Crowley had no idea how to best tempt Aziraphale into certain sins. He'd never truly tried to encourage him in that direction, his methods were more aligned towards an opportunity to witness the deeply felt happiness in Aziraphale when he succumbed to his own wants. He just wanted Aziraphale to honestly enjoy himself. 

He'd managed gluttony within minutes of Aziraphale asking, and he felt that pride and sloth would be equally easy. Wrath and greed were possible, but he'd have to figure out his approach carefully. However he’d already tried his hand at lust and having another go at it felt awfully awkward, and envy just didn’t seem like something that was on Aziraphale’s radar. Those two would take some more thought.

Five out of seven wouldn't be too bad a mark for an angel.

Crowley arrived at A. Z. Fell's bookshop and grabbed the ill fitting pale denim jacket out of his pin adorned side bag and put it on. He pulled his light, wide brimmed straw hat down to complete his disguise and emotionally prepared himself for a frustrating morning.

It was 40 minutes before the first customer walked past. Crowley enjoyed the moment of surprise and fear as he grabbed her wrist.

"Sorry, friend, I didn't mean to startle," Crowley lied. 

The middle aged woman snatched her hand away from him furiously. "Well, I say-"

"I was hoping you'd do me a kindness. My friend owns this shop, and it's his birthday coming up." Crowley was turning his charm on, there's a certain ease in tempting a good thing that he reveled in occasionally. The Arrangement had scratched a certain unacknowledged itch for him. 

She stayed, hearing him out. 

"See, I trust you value this shop, and I'm hoping that today I might tempt his customers to simply tell him how special he and his books are." Crowley smiled, catching himself before he showed too many teeth; that usually came across as more intimidating than he was trying for. "I don't mean for you to lie, simply let him know he's appreciated."

The woman relaxed and grinned. "That's a lovely thought, young man," she said. 

Crowley nodded and simpered. "Well, I just thought he ought to feel some pride in his work, you know."

She nodded emphatically, pattering on for a moment about what a nice idea he'd had and how lucky his friend was. Crowley could feel his disgusting smile begin to grow sarcastic. 

"I don't want to keep you, kind miss," he interrupted after a hurried count to ten so that he wouldn’t cut her off too quick. He indicated the door. She said a few more meaningless things as Crowley nodded, ignoring her completely, before she went into the shop.

This day was going to be exhausting. 

\---

"Zi," Crowley said by way of greeting. He was bone tired. Aziraphale had only had four customers the day before, so he'd ended up encouraging flattery for two days in a row. 

Aziraphale smiled with a warmth that nearly melted Crowley's tended annoyance. "Crowley, my dear man," he said happily, closing his book quickly. "To what do I owe this lovely surprise."

"Had a shit couple a’ days," Crowley said, beelining for the whiskey. 

"I am sorry to hear that, dear," Aziraphale said. He met Crowley at the drinks cabinet, picking up a glass for himself and a honeyed whiskey bottle. "I, however, have had a wonderful few days."

Crowley eyed him, barely faking his curiosity. "Hm, you do look smug as a good fuck. Tell me yours, I could do with a distraction." He threw himself onto the best sofa chair, drinking directly from the bottle as he eyed Aziraphale.

Aziraphale frowned at the lewd comparison, but didn't comment. He sat next to Crowley, knocking his splayed arm out of his way without a thought. "It's been remarkable, something in the air I suppose. I may have made something truly good with this shop."

"Oh?" Crowley encouraged mildly, raising his eyebrows. 

"Nearly every customer has taken the time to tell me why they come to my little book shop, to make sure I know how much they appreciate my hard, humble work."

Crowley smiled widely, deeply pleased by the joy that was radiating off Aziraphale. He nearly didn't notice the thermometer of pride in his mind shimmer a little as it filled up to a dramatic height. He did notice it, however, and his smile grew with a tinge of his own self satisfaction.

Aziraphale kept talking, his happiness evident in his every breath. Crowley wasn't really listening, he knew what had happened after all, he simply watched and enjoyed the sight.

"Crowley," Aziraphale repeated, interrupting his musings.

"Sorry, angel, what is it?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale glanced meaningfully at his glasses. Crowley rolled his eyes but acquiesced, taking them off. "Why are you smiling at me so much?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley had another swig of whiskey, the struggle of the last days nearly forgotten. He eyed Aziraphale warmly. "Pride suits you," he said softly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I won't let you sully this for me, demon," he said fondly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley agreed.

"Don't let me just talk about myself, though, what's your week had for you?" 

Crowley sighed, his exhaustion rushing back. "I was focusing on a particular company," he misled. 

“What company?” 

“Oh some, some- ah- movie place,” Crowley said lazily, coming up with whatever on the fly. “Cinema, you know,” he lied badly.

Aziraphale nodded. “Anything good on these days?” He asked.

Crowley thought for a second. He hadn’t been to see a movie in ages, except that day Aziraphale had- and Hastur had- never mind. He’d been to cinemas fairly often, but he spent that time asleep letting his mild snore annoy other patrons. It was one of his favourite low-energy ways of spreading bad favour. “I don’t know,” Crowley admitted.

“I rather enjoyed The Wizard of Oz, is that still showing?” 

Crowley looked at him, bemused. “That’s  _ decades _ old, angel.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It had good colours.”

“I liked Titanic,” Crowley volunteered after a few moments. 

“Oh, that was a shame.”

“Not the real one, although that was a laugh too-”   
  
“A laugh?”

“But I meant the movie, you ever see it?”

Aziraphale chastised him with a glare, but didn’t carry on the point. “No, I don’t believe so.”

Crowley pointed the bottle he had begun to forget about at Aziraphale cheerfully. “You might like it. Horrible soundtrack, but there’s lots of drowning. Reminded me of the Arc a bit.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I did think it was rather rude of Shem to bring instruments with the intention of learning them, rather than bringing something he was actually good at.”

“He was very shit on that harp,” Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale nodded, but didn’t comment. Then he started, realising he’d dragged the conversation off track. “But I interrupted you, please, what were you doing at the cinema?” He said generously.

"Oh, nothing really,” Crowley said. “Just lots of small temptations that required  _ talking _ to the  _ public _ . I hate that." He put the bottle down, the conversation with Aziraphale having cheered him up more than any drink could.

Aziraphale looked at him warmly. Somewhere in the distance he heard something like the tinkling of a bell representing diligence. "Well, I'm sure it was worth the effort," he said.

Crowley smiled with an uncommon honestly. "Absolutely." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entry for Pride in wikipedia is very long, apparently it’s the father of all sins. The daddy sin, if you will. But we know Aziraphale is proud of his books and keeps them to himself, which is one of the hallmarks of pride - a lack of generosity
> 
> Diligence also suits Crowley well, when he chooses to. He will choose something and persevere no matter how shitty and tough (the M25, delivering the Antichrist, doing good deeds in Aziraphale’s name). Crowley will avoid work, but if he does it he does it right (except the antichrist thing).
> 
> (i don't know how to get rid of the notes from the first chapter, so i guess they're just here too now)


	3. Sloth and Humility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gives himself another easy one, Aziraphale is a natural sloth! Things don't quite go to plan...

"Sorry ‘m late," Crowley apologised as he joined Aziraphale on the park bench.

"Quite alright, dear. Busy day?"

They were a common presence in the garden now, Aziraphael in his favourite white coat sitting prim and proper with a paper bag of bread next to Crowley, lounging with one leg kicked out and resting on a patch of dirt that smoldered slightly, which before he'd sat down had been thriving dandelion. 

Crowley took his glasses off and cleaned the lens. He kept his gaze low so that no one would notice his eyes. "No, you?"

"No. It’s been rather quiet ever since, well, you know..." Aziraphale trailed off pointed vagueness. 

Crowley hummed in agreement, putting his glasses back on. It was overcast today and he couldn't see as much of the park as he’d’ve liked.

"I rather miss the, um," Aziraphale paused, searching for a word. 

"Orders?" Crowley prompted after a bit. Aziraphale shook his head. "Judgement?"

"No," Aziraphale said. "Just the structure, I suppose."

Crowley smiled. "Gives us a chance to do nothing. S’been awhile since we did nothing together."

"We do nothing together most nights these days, my dear."

“Hm.”

A pigeon hopped closer to them, looking at Aziraphale hopefully. Crowley watched with an unimpressed air as Aziraphale threw some pieces of bread towards the bird. 

"Can you think of something fun to do," Aziraphale asked.

"Nothing," Crowley suggested. 

“No ideas at all?”

“No, nothing is my idea.”

"Nothing isn’t any fun."

"Sure it is, here," Crowley swung his leg in, facing Aziraphale. The pigeon flew off, startled by the movement. Crowley ignored Aziraphale's chastising glare and began instructing him. "Lean back, spread your legs a little," he said, tapping Aziraphale's thigh to indicate what and where. 

Aziraphale froze for a second when Crowley tapped him and a thought flitted across Crowley’s mind that he may have overstepped, but then Aziraphale relaxed and rolled his eyes. He gave Crowley a look that said he was unimpressed, but enough of a smile snuck through that Crowley knew he’d take part. Aziraphale put his bread away and let his knees fall further apart. He pouted, not enjoying the experiment yet.

"No, more. And like it’s not causing you pain," Crowley instructed.

Aziraphale tried a few more poses, diligently ignoring Crowley’s laughing smile. After a short while he sat up straight again. "These pants are not very flexible,” he explained.

Crowley had to agree, he could remember wearing them. "Okay, just let go," Crowley suggested. He mimed a slow breath and out. "Relax."

"If I let go, my wings will come out and my face will get all gold-y"

Crowley rolled his eyes so much his whole body moved with his exasperation. "Don’t let go that much, then. Just a bit."

Aziraphale frowned, but it seemed more focused than unwilling. "Okay, I’m trying." He took a few slow breaths.

"Do you feel different?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale began to shake his head in the negative when suddenly there was a loud crash, a scream, and the sound of a bike bell.

"What was that?" Aziraphale asked, his attention snapping to the source of the noise immediately. 

Crowley had seen the whole thing, he'd been looking that way after all. He'd seen a young lady jerk her bike to the side to avoid a duck, then hit a rock, then simply careen towards the edge of the river, totally uncontrollably. 

"Nothing," Crowley said dismissively.

"Sammy!" Another young woman yelled, running down the path towards the scene, followed closely by a young man who looked panicked. There were pockets of people moving towards the commotion.

Aziraphale stood up and looked down the hill to the bank, seeing the young lady laying on her bike. "Oh my goodness gracious, is she hurt do you think?"

Crowley shrugged. "I’m sure she’s fine."

Sammy stood up slowly and waved at her friend, her body swaying dramatically. Crowley smiled victoriously at Aziraphale. He nearly began to say  _ I told you so _ but as Sammy waved her expression went slack and she pressed her hand to her head in confusion. She fell backwards, her hand dropping from her head and the coating of blood clear to see. She hit the water hard, her friend screaming in horror at the sight.

"Oh!" Aziraphale raised his hands as if he wanted to catch the woman. He looked at Crowley in panic.

"What?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale frowned. "Oh, really," he challenged.

Crowley shrugged, he had an idea as to what Aziraphale was on about, but he didn't feel like it.

"You know I’m a terrible swimmer, and your clothes aren’t even real,” Aziraphale complained as he began to struggle out of his coat.

"You’re not going to-" Crowley was interrupted by a face full of Aziraphale's favourite coat. By the time Crowley pulled himself out of the folds Aziraphale had taken his shoes off too.

"Horrible man," Aziraphale admonished weakly before he sped off, running for the water’s edge. He entered with a hesitation not worthy of the glory of the moment because the water was really very cold and he hated the cold. By the time he was up to his knees one of Sammy’s friends crashed past him, splashing him entirely in her haste. Aziraphale delegated himself to the position of encouraging the young woman in her efforts, clapping her on and helping with the last push to get Sammy to the shore. 

Crowley sauntered over to the fence, carrying Aziraphale’s coat and shoes with him. He watched as Aziraphale took his kerchief and mopped Sammy’s face dry, using a rather strong miracle to cure her of her wounds. Crowley cringed, they were trying to avoid large miracles for fear of drawing too much attention.

Aziraphale spent a while longer making sure everyone was okay, ensuring with a small preemptive miracle that the woman wouldn’t catch a chill from her dip in the river on this cold day, and double and triple checking that Sammy felt well enough to sit up and make her way home. 

He walked back to Crowley and awkwardly hopped the fence before snatching his coat and shoes back and storming off. Crowley sighed, closing his eyes and sending a quick prayer to no one at all that he wasn’t going to be told off for too long.

Crowley followed after Aziraphale, catching up quickly. “Look-” he started.

“I’m not interested,” Aziraphale interrupted. He had his coat on now but was still carrying his shoes. He left wet splotches in his wake.

Crowley walked beside him quietly for a minute. Aziraphale was trying to walk quickly but he kept stepping on little rocks or seeds and would hop to his other foot to avoid the pain which was slowing him down remarkably.

Crowley broached the silence reluctantly, but he needed to say something. “That was a big miracle, Aziraphale, was that really worth it?”

Aziraphale stopped and spun to face him furiously. “Of course it was worth it! They’re all worth it, isn’t that why we did this?”

Crowley swallowed his immediate retort, willing himself to not fall into his defensive habits when Aziraphale got annoyed. There was no real use in antagonising him. “I did it for you,” Crowley said eventually.

Aziraphale glowered at him, his expression a confusing mix of that constant angelic kindness and his current foul mood. “You’re better than that,” he said with a certainty Crowley deemed misplaced. 

“I’m really not,” he said with a small smile, hoping Aziraphale would just insult him like he sometimes did and they could just forget this whole episode. 

No such luck.

Aziraphale sagged with disappointment and began walking away again. Crowley stayed true to his form and followed.

They walked quietly. Crowley could sense the mood between them calming as Aziraphale began to take more care of where he was stepping, began to think about his actions. Crowley was planning a quip to say in a few moments once he deemed Aziraphale cheerful enough. Something about balancing the scales for killing that dove at Warlock’s birthday. Unfortunately, fate wasn’t going to let that happen.

Aziraphale froze dead still in his tracks, so suddenly that Crowley took another step before he realised. He spun and saw Aziraphale staring at something ahead of him, an expression akin to horror on his face. Crowley followed his gaze and saw the bandstand at the end of the path. It had been two months since he’d been here and it made him feel cold to his core. 

The pair stood and stared, similar expression of regret on their faces. The angel snapped out of it first.

Lost in his emotions, Crowley didn’t realise until he was knocked nearly off balance that Aziraphale had grabbed his wrist and tugged him away. Crowley tripped over his feet as Aziraphale didn’t give him a moment to catch up, he simply stalked away, pulling the confused demon with him. 

“Just for me-” Aziraphale muttered as they wove wildly through the trees, taking a direct path to another meandering trail. “Was it really that selfish?”

“What?” Crowley asked. He’d managed to catch his feet and was walking alongside Aziraphale, doing his best to ignore the focus he wanted to pay to where his wrist was being held.

“You didn’t care about any of them at all? Not even the kids?” 

Crowley noticed in horror that Aziraphale’s justified anger had tipped over into wrath. Wrath wasn’t just anger, it was much deeper, much more long lasting. Crowley had meant to take Aziraphale to an orphanage or a war zone or something to set that off, he didn’t think his angel harboured such feelings for him. It was a deeply unsettling confirmation that Crowley’s hopes and dreams regarding their relationship were for naught. It somewhat shattered the certainty that he’d had in their friendship, even.

They broke through the light foliage onto a dirt track. Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s wrist and didn’t face him. Crowey could barely think, he was so alarmed by the simmering thermometer of wrath in the corner of his eye.

“Why are you so angry with me?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale faced him. “Tell me,” he insisted. His eyes were wet but no tears had fallen.

Crowley nodded, telling the truth without thought. “I thought it was cruel and pointless and wrong.” He looked at Aziraphale desperately, entreating him to believe. “You know that, angel.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, to all appearances he seemed sad and small, but Crowley could see the balled fists that he hid, the simmering wrath, the twitch of his eyelid that betrayed his fury. “I hate what they do to you,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“Who?”

“Hell,” Aziraphale said, the word making its way into this world with difficulty. The metaphoric vein of mercury off to the side of Crowley’s vision grew in length. “Heaven,” he spat. The thermometer gained again. “All of it. They make you worse.”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m a demon, they-”

“Barely,” Aziraphale interrupted. “ _ Barely _ , my dear.”

Crowley realised he was breathing heavily, the panic that had held his attention passing as the true focus of Aziraphale’s distaste became apparent. He spent a moment making his heart slow down and bringing his breath back under control. He had plenty to say on this subject, but Aziraphale wasn’t in a mood to hear it, and Crowley couldn’t be sure his feeling would be a help to the angel, so best to just not feel at all right now.

Aziraphale didn’t hate him, that mattered more than anything else right now. 

In the quiet he could see the thermometer dropping as Aziraphale also brought his emotions in check. It was probably a virtue when Aziraphale did it, but for Crowley it was just self preservation. He wouldn’t risk upsetting Aziraphale by losing his self control. Aziraphale knew how Crowley felt, he didn’t need to repeat it every time it came to mind. Aziraphale had, in fact, told him not to mention it. So he wouldn’t.

“Tell me what to say, angel,” Crowley asked in a tone that anyone who didn’t know he was a demon would’ve called begging.

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped and he looked at Crowley with a deep misery. “You have good instincts, Crowley,” he entreated, “but you always second guess them because you expect to be bad.”

Crowley refuted him without thought, he could never take that lying down. “I’m not good-”

“I don’t mean in the biblical sense,” Aziraphale interrupted with a snap of annoyance.

“What else is there?”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, staring at their joined hands in sorrow. “I’ll come by yours for dinner tonight,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

“What?” Crowley asked, but the sound of Aziraphale’s wings unfolding drowned him out. Crowley lurched toward Aziraphale, meaning to catch him, but with one quick flap he was gone. 

“Hey!” Crowley yelled at the sky, ignoring the curious glances he got for it. “What?”

There was no response. 

Crowley growled, the sound low and deep. It traveled up his throat and finished in a furious hiss that kept up as he approached the bandstand. People left, clearing out of his path either in fear or not entirely sure why. Crowley miracled a flame thrower into his hand and set to work removing the bandstand from this world.

The angel hadn’t noticed at the time, but when Aziraphale thought back on that conversation he remembered a soft tinkling of something like bells singing of temperance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It’s a bait and switch!
> 
> This was actually Wrath and Temperance!
> 
> Sloth is close to Aziraphale, but the definition of sloth vs self indulgent includes stuff like an indifference to god and not doing good deeds when the occasion arises. Excepting the Arrangement (which i believe involved the good deeds being done in his stead) I don’t think Aziraphale has passed up a moment of helping someone (Anathema and the bike comes to mind). But I could easily see Crowley’s sightly exaggerated slothiness (cos he definitely falls into the category of sloth) could be enough to irk Aziraphale just enough to send him into wrath.
> 
> Wrath is different to anger because, “In its purest form, wrath presents with injury, violence, and hate that may provoke feuds that can go on for centuries.” And I absolutely believe that angels all hold wrath in their hearts for demon kind (and vice versa) but Aziraphale may have some saved for the angels as well.
> 
> Crowley is close to humility sometimes, but I don’t think it ever comes from a place of being humble or modest, instead I think it’s self hatred and that certainly won’t set off a ping for the virtues. Temperance, however, is the act of keeping your emotions in check and honestly I think that’s all Crowley does all the time cos looking cool means looking unengaged when actually he cares so hard. Also, he’s been in love with Az forever and the fact that he hasn’t acted means he is temperance personified imo
> 
> Also a quick explanation on the miracles thing. I figure these two would try to keep a low profile, so they’re using as few miracles as they can. However, cos of the way their miracles work (in that i think a lot are more based on things working how you expect than an active miracle) they absolutely are still using miracles, they just think they arent. So like Crowley’s driving is worse and requires more focus and cos he’s putting that effort in he thinks it’s enough and that belief means it is. Same for Aziraphale, he got a tradie in to correctly wire his shop’s lighting system and so now they work and he’ll never get a blown bulb cos he doesn’t think he will. Their lives are easier than anyone elses, but not as easy as they used to be. They have to buy their wine ahead of time now, but the bottles are never corked or off. How lucky lol


	4. A Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make up and move on from their fight. They check in to see where they're at w their little competition and drink some wine. This is a healing chapter

Crowley was sitting by his front door. He'd pulled his couch out of his bedroom and into what had been his office so that Aziraphale could see his plants through the doors - he'd enjoyed them so much last time. 

He wasn't completely sure that Aziraphale would even come. He'd said he would, but it had been quite a spat and normally Crowley would give Aziraphale a week or two of space, not just a few hours. One time he’d avoided him for seventy boring years after a particularly personal squabble. Another time he’d slept a century away to avoid facing him. But there was nothing else he could do to prepare, so he just sat by the door keeping his ears open and his hopes low. 

Closer to eight than six there was a knock at the door. Crowley leapt up with an eagerness he was glad no one else saw. He opened the door and leaned casually on a nearby pillar, trying to look bored. 

"Good evening," Aziraphale said quietly, hesitantly.

Crowley nodded at him and indicated that he should enter. He wanted to greet him properly but he felt like his heart was in his throat. He was also more than a little scared he might say the wrong thing again. 

Aziraphale closed the door behind him, the echo long and low. "I brought scones," he said brightly, raising a white box he had with him. His forced smile faded quickly as Crowley took more than a second to respond. 

Crowley cleared his throat. "I've never had scones," he said. 

Azirapahle grinned at him. "I think you'll like them, they're lovely." 

They were still in the entrance way. Crowley hated it, they should be comfortably on the couch by now. "This is ridiculous, come in," he snapped. 

Aziraphale nodded, his eyebrow quirking in agreement, and followed him through the bend in the hallway. As they passed the statue of the angel and the demon caught with each other, the duality of the piece struck Crowley in an oddly deep way. 

"Are you angry with me?" Crowley asked quickly as he threw a glare at his plants, reminding them to behave. He sat on the couch.

"At you?" Aziraphale breathed. "No, dear boy, no." He sat next to Crowley, who was busy making sure his jacket was sitting well and couldn't possibly meet the angel's gaze. "Not you," Aziraphale stressed.

Crowley ignored how he felt for a moment, instead focusing on deflecting the moment. "That's what I thought, but I figured I should check. Where’d you get the scones?"

Aziraphale hesitated, but let Crowley get away with it. He spent far too long describing the details of the shop he’d gotten the scones from, but by the time he was finished the tension had passed.

A few glasses of wine, some scones, and the happy scoffing of non miraculously delivered Indian food ("We can just uber it." "Uber. Isn’t that some sort of a German man?" "I think it’s a brand of car, it does sound German though.") And the conversation had turned back to the sins Aziraphale wanted to try.

"Let’s try a fun one, then." Aziraphale suggested. 

Crowley laughed shortly. "Which ones do you think are fun?" 

Aziraphale thought for a moment, choosing his words with care. "Well, I’m often told that lust is enjoyable," he said, peeking at Crowley.

Crowley spluttered, immediately on the defensive. He’d behaved, Aziraphale better know that. "Who- when have you- I have never talked to you about lust."

Aziraphale sat up with aplomb. "I talk to other people sometimes."

Crowley looked at him like he had turned into an aardvark. "Who is talking to you about lust?"

“No one in particular,” Aziraphale said defensively.

“‘Ziraphale!”

“It’s not like I’ve done it!” 

Well, fuck the floodgates then, because Aziraphale had said it and now it was all Crowley could think of. 

“You- well, I-” he struggled to say. The memory of Aziraphale’s hair between his fingers. “It’s- I’m- well, I-” Stop remembering, he told himself. Unfortunately, he had fantasies that didn’t count as memories. He really needed to get it together, but each time he scratched an image from his mind, another popped up. “I would have-” Imagining Aziraphale touching himself. “I should-” What would Aziraphale look like when he comes? All pleasure, all vulnerability? “You really-” Aziraphale moaning Crowley’s nam- that was enough. “Right,” Crowley said firmly, forcing himself furiously to focus.

“Oh, do stop looking at me like that,” Aziraphale said, his cheeks aflame.

“I mean, I really-  _ angel _ ,” Crowley said, his tone surprisingly admonishing.

“I joined a book club,” Aziraphale said with a hint of annoyance. “If you must know, and the topic came up after a reading of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

Crowley could feel his eyebrows going higher and higher as he listened to Aziraphale. “Did you enjoy it?” He asked.

“Book club or the novel?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

“The sex,” Crowley said frankly, enjoying the small twitch Aziraphale’s face made when he spoke.

“Oh, well, no,” Aziraphale muttered. “Actually, I skipped that passage. I haven't even  _ seen _ sex since the Greeks were going at it in the middle of every good play."

Crowley’s every fiber was sparking with effort to not mention what he couldn’t. Just keep the conversation moving, the topic would pass. “Would you like to read it now, give it a go?” It was like walking a fine wire over a waterfall.

Aziraphale glanced around the bare apartment walls hopefully. “Are you keeping books here now?” 

“No.”

“Well, I would struggle to read it, then.”

Crowley stalled. He didn’t know what to say to Aziraphale about lust and sex. He had so much he wanted to say but never would and it all got too muddled in his mind. 

They’d kissed, of course. Once. Or many times in one hour, if you wanted to look at it that way. The night the apocalypse didn’t happen had been intense in many ways, the most memorable of which for Crowley being how Aziraphale had demanded his promise of secrecy. To not mention it again. To swear it before he knew what he swore. Then the most passionate, startling, chaste hour long kiss Crowley thought had ever happened in the 6000-some years the world had spun. 

He’d kept his promise, of course. They’d swapped bodies and continued to live, and Crowley had kept his promise. If he looked at Aziraphale too longingly, too lovingly sometimes, well, at least he was trying. He hadn’t brought it up in the two months since, despite how sometimes the question rested on the tip of his tongue. Why? Had it been Aziraphale not wanting to die without trying a kiss, or had it been a particular thing to kiss Crowley before the end? If Crowley brought it up would Aziraphale get offended and leave or would he be relieved and stay? It was too risky, so instead he just tortured himself with maybes.

Some nights he wasn’t fully convinced he’d escaped the punishing clutches of Hell because these thoughts and doubts were a specific kind of torment.

He wasn’t sure he could keep his mouth shut if they talked about lust in any real way. Crowley’s skin started to feel hot, to feel tight. His thoughts gave up on words and began to take the shape of a spiraling drain, promising the worst and delivering something even less pleasant.

“We’ll come back to lust,” he suggested.

Aziraphale pouted. “I’ve only done one, though,” he complained.

Crowley smirked, latching onto the slight shift in topic. “I’ve got you on three, angel.”

“What?” Aziraphale snapped, facing him quickly with a piercing look. “Which ones?  _ When? _ ”

Crowley lurched out of his chair and scrambled around his desk’s drawer for a moment until he found a white chalk marker he used to write on his walls - it was good for brainstorming. He wandered over to a patch of dark, glossy wall and wrote the seven sins out in order. “Alright,” he said, facing Aziraphale again and cocking his hip out cheerfully. “Which one d’you know about?”

Aziraphale sat up a little. “You pointed out that I’m proud of my bookshop, I think that’s fair.” Crowley put a tick next to  _ Pride _ as Aziraphale kept talking. “Although I hardly think pride in hard work is worthy of a deadly sin, I mean, we don’t hand out the virtues so willy nilly.”

“Any guesses for the other two so far?” Crowley prompted when Aziraphale paused for a drink of wine. 

Aziraphale looked at the list and shook his head. Crowley accepted that and put a tick next to  _ Gluttony _ . “Oh, come now,” came the disbelief from the chair.

Crowley raised his eyebrows in smug confirmation. “I resent that,” Aziraphale continued. “I’m not, am I? This week?”

Crowley indicated the glass in Aziraphale’s hand. “Right now, actually,” he said. It was true, since maintaining an awareness of the strength and presence of the sins Crowley had been amused to notice the lasting low levels of gluttony in Aziraphale. Nothing truly bad, but a simmering constant nonetheless. It was deeply endearing.

Aziraphale looked curiously at the wineglass for a minute. Crowley shook the marker a few times, he hadn’t been pleased with the flick of his last tick and wanted the marker to keep up with his standards. Aziraphale shrugged to himself and had another drink of his wine. 

“And?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley sighed and quickly ticked  _ Wrath _ . It was a good tick, with a nice flourish. Crowley explained himself before Aziraphale had a chance to really process it. “Earlier today. I didn’t expect it.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “That’s not very becoming of me, is it? I apologise, my dear.”

“Don’t apologise,” Crowley said in frustration, almost on reflex as he sat next to Aziraphale. Aziraphale continued to look at him apologetically.

“I don’t like that they make you that angry, though,” Crowley said. Aziraphale tightened his lips in a sort of thank you. “I feel the same way,” Crowley said mildly. 

“I rather think that you carry wrath better than I do,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I could grow to like your wrath, I think,” Crowley said. “So long as it’s not pointed at me,’ he tried to joke. It didn’t land and he cringed. He’d just undone his good work of deflecting earlier.

Aziraphale clapped him on the shoulder, the movement jolting Crowley. “My dear friend, it never could be,” Aziraphale said kindly. “Now let me change the topic to something lighter.” He stood up and plucked the marker out of Crowley’s slack hand. 

Aziraphale started writing on the wall next to Crowley’s sins. Crowley took advantage of his distraction to let out a long, shaky breath.

“What’re you up to, angel?” Crowley asked sardonically once he could.

“Patience!” Aziraphale said. Little did Crowley know, this was not an instruction, but actually the honest answer. Aziraphale had written out half of the virtues and was indeed halfway through writing  _ Patience _ on Crowley’s wall.

Crowley groaned and waited impatiently for him to finish.

“Okay!” Aziraphale announced. He stepped aside and immediately Crowley began swearing. 

“Fuck you, no,” He said without leaving his seat. “You’ve been trying this? Bastard.” Crowley polished off his glass and picked up a full bottle, deciding not to bother himself with the middle man.

Aziraphale shimmied his shoulders happily. “You’ve succumbed to a few already,” he said with an unadulterated smug joy.

“Fuck off I have,” Crowley muttered into the bottle as he drank less heavily than he appeared to. 

“Any guesses for which?” Aziraphale powered on through the hostile audience.

“Is there one for exasperation?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale paused. “No,” he answered. Then he ticked  _ Diligence _ . He turned and faced Crowley’s glare with a smile.

“You remember you had a difficult couple of days recently with, I think you said, a lot of small temptations?” Aziraphale smiled proudly at Crowley. “That was very diligent of you.”

Crowley took a long, slow drink from the bottle while maintaining eye contact with Aziraphale. Aziraphale deflated slightly. 

“I’ll just go ahead and tick the second one myself, I think,” Aziraphale murmured as he did so, putting an uncertain mark next to  _ Charity _ . 

“Oh, that’s- that’s just bullshit,” Crowley exclaimed, waving a disbelieving hand at Aziraphale. “I have never once- not once have I donated to a charity!”

“This one’s a bit weak,” Aziraphale admitted with a sheepish grin. 

“Ha!” Crowley laughed victoriously.

“But I still heard the bells, just for one of the sub categories, I suppose,” Aziraphale said with enough pleasure that Crowley found himself unwilling to put up a real fight.

“Are we allowing sub categories now?” Crowley asked. He thought he could probably get Aziraphale to jealousy, but true envy was a challenge.

Aziraphale frowned and decided not to answer directly. “We’re avoiding frivolous miracles these days,” Aziraphale explained over the top of some sarcastic mumbling from the present demon. “But you miracled me a box of chocolates,” he finished proudly.

There was a beat of silence. “That’s it?” Crowley asked. “Virtues are much easier than sins.”

“Or maybe you’re just generous.”

“Don’t insult me,” Crowley said. He was, however, willing to take the comment. He wasn’t generous with anyone except Aziraphale, and he figured it circled back around to a form of selfishness because he got so much joy out of watching the angel’s happiness. Unless that was a form of empathy, which might be a virtue. Fuck.

“Is empathy one of these?” Crowley asked, leaning forward and squinting at the flowery handwriting.

“No, there’s kindness. That’s close.”

Crowley was just selfish, then. The thought comforted him.

“Just the two, then? Or one and a half, really,” Crowley asked.

“One more!” Aziraphale said with a large smile. He quickly ticked  _ Temperance _ and looked back at Crowley.

Crowley sneered a bit and shook his head. “I don’t even know what that one means,” he said.

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, slightly crestfallen.

Crowley hated to cause that expression, so he tried to guess. “Wait, I might know,” he said, thinking hard. “Isn’t it when you make pots and stuff?” 

Aziraphale frowned, totally confused. “No,” he said, “No, it’s n- what are you thinking of?”

Crowley frowned too. He felt a little drunk. “I’m not sure. You know, when you’re making a pan or something and you’ve gotta heat the- tempering! You temper iron, remember?”   
  


Aziraphale pointed at him. “Yes, I do remember! Oh, I had the loveliest cast iron pan in the 1600s. Where did I lose that?”

Crowley made a mental note to buy Aziraphale a good iron pan. 

“Is it like nice weather?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale glanced at the word. “I suppose, if you want to stretch a metaphor. But I think you mean temperate.”

Crowley nodded. “That’s it, I do.” 

“Same root word, though. I think.”

“Oh!” Crowley indicated himself in success. 

“But it means,” Aziraphale said, “a moderation of emotions. A good equilibrium and awareness of appropriate wants and desires.”

Crowley took another lazy swig of wine, but the tone had shifted to a more humourous one as he made his point. 

“I don't know what you did, exactly, but it happened,” Aziraphale said lamely. “So just accept it, I guess.” He put the marker down and sat next to Crowley again. 

“Well said,” Crowley drawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a time shift and a pov swap, I'm just telling you so that you know it's still the right fic and all. The tone's a bit different cos Az is taking things a bit more seriously but yeah, it's all g. Back to this plot and Crowley pov the chapter after, dw


	5. Two Months Ago, A Few Hours After The Apocalypse Finished Not Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick flashback to explain that kiss Crowley keeps thinking about. Aziraphale pov. Bit of a tone shift as they take themselves seriously for once

“Last night,” Crowley observed, muttering the words into his glass of wine.

Aziraphale hummed sadly. “So it would seem,” he agreed.

Crowley sighed into his glass again. Aziraphale was getting rather tired of that sound. He’d been staring out the window into the starry sky for hours now. Moments of conversation had peppered the night, the only proof that time was in fact passing. Aziraphale had kept his eyes peeled for a shooting star to wish on, but he hadn’t noticed one yet.

The weather had calmed down quickly once Adam had settled into his humanity. The last drops of rain had stopped hours ago and now the entirety of the galaxy lay before them as they shared Crowley’s couch and a good bottle of wine.

“Is there anything you’ve wanted to do?” Crowley asked mildly.

“Like what?”

Crowley shrugged. “I dunno. Play somethin’ on an organ?”

Ah, a bucket list. “I’ve played an organ,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley glanced at him in brief interest, his gaze returning to the window before them quickly. “Hm? What’d you play?”

Aziraphale felt a small shot of embarrassment run through him. “The Lord’s Prayer,” he admitted. 

Crowley kindly didn’t say anything.

Minutes passed and their end came closer.

“Boat ride?” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale frowned at him. “We lived on the Arc together, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded, staring out his window with an empty gaze. “I forgot about that,” he said. 

Crowley sighed again and Aziraphale went from being tired of the sound to being annoyed by it.

“So, there’s nothing?” Crowley said, looking away from the window and facing Aziraphale with more intent, there was a gleam of relevance that had been missing for some time now. “No millennia of yearning?” He said sourly. “Or just something you haven't gotten around to yet?”

There were certainly some millennia of yearning in Aziraphale, but it hardly felt appropriate to bring it up. He searched his mind for something else.

“I've never had a TimTam,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Some chocolate biscuit in Australia.”

“I’ve never been t’Australia,” Crowley mused.

Aziraphale looked at him. He was still staring back at Aziraphale and those millennia of yearning came to mind again. “Isn’t your snake form Australian?”

“Oh yeah,” Crowley realised, looking back at the window. “I should visit some time.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. Crowley knew they wouldn’t be able to visit, there simply wasn’t the time. If Aziraphale could take him he would, but their life together was up. He felt a grief stronger than just the loss of his own life.

“Was that a shooting star?” Aziraphale asked quickly, having just noticed something moving in a way unlike a plane.

Crowley paused, watching the light’s arc. “Nah,” he said. “Satellite.”

Those millennia of yearning were still on Aziraphale’s mind. The more recent few centuries of actually wanting wandered into his thoughts, too. He mostly thought about how he just wanted to hold Crowley, to be close to him. Unfortunately they didn’t do that sort of thing. He loved Crowley, he’d known it for a while now, and since he’d realised he’d always known that Crowley didn’t love him back. 

Crowley liked him, they were good friends. But he had such complicated opinions on the world and Aziraphale could never keep up. The last few decades had been full of Aziraphale’s fear of disappointing Crowley, of slipping up so badly that he would push him away for good.

He thought he’d managed it in the bandstand, but Crowley was here with him now. It was more than likely habit, not forgiveness, that brought the demon to his side tonight. But the result was the same, they sat here in companionship that was not all that Aziraphale wanted. Aziraphale didn’t exactly want to kiss Crowley, he wanted Crowley to be kissed by him. He wanted to give Crowley every bit of him, but Crowley didn’t want that. Crowley just wanted conversation. And conversation was enough for Aziraphale, even though he yearned.

Perhaps he could frame it differently for the demon. Lean into the temptation that Crowley served. It wouldn’t be quite right, but it would give Aziraphale a chance to touch him.

It could make things awkward tomorrow, but there wasn’t likely to be much of a tomorrow for them. And if there was Aziraphale could blame anything and everything and pretend he was just curious. Or perhaps he could use it again to touch Crowley. Was it lying? Or just omission? Does the distinction matter? 

He wasn’t manipulating Crowley, he was just not admitting to his reasons for wanting something. But what if Crowley just didn’t want to at all? Would that hurt more than the unknown? Crowley was unlikely to get too angry, but sometimes Crowley’s mild frustration manifested as a decade’s absence.

“The consequences could be too much,” Aziraphale muttered vaguely to himself.

Crowley drank. “Yeah, I don't think we deserve to die either,” he agreed loudly.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Australia’s not that dangerous, is it?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t believe he was discussing this. Entertaining this thought. Letting it be spoken. “You don’t- I thought you might have some idea,” he said quietly, glancing over at Crowley nervously.

Crowley’s whole body had shifted in his seat now to face Aziraphale. He was curious, clearly not understanding. Aziraphale wished he would just understand. “What is it, Aziraphale?” He asked.

If they lived, this would be a mistake. If they died, the opposite. It was far more likely that they would die, they had no plan and the forces of Heaven and Hell had it in for them. If only Aziraphale could keep this moment contained to now, to know that it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

“Promise me,” he said tenderly.

“Wha’?” Crowley really wasn’t following this conversation.

Aziraphale turned to him, flexed his fingers nervously, and focused. “I want something from you, something I am not owed and I do not deserve,” he said honestly.

“Angel-” Crowley started to say.

“If we live-” Aziraphale began.

“‘s’not likely,” Crowley interrupted.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed, “but if we do, do not bring this up.”

Crowley took his glasses off and stared at him. He was beautiful in the moonlight, his expression all confusion and kindness. Aziraphale was terrified.

“This- I don't want things to change. You are perfect, dear, but also I don’t want to cease existing without-” He stopped himself. Crowley hadn’t agreed yet at Aziraphale was willing to be a coward when the occasion called for it. “Promise me,” he demanded.

“What is it?” Crowley asked.

“Promise me first.”

Crowley stared at him, so Aziraphale stared back. He couldn’t be sure what expression was on his face, but he hoped it wasn’t so desperate as to be embarrassing. He was already embarrassed. And desperate.

“I promise,” Crowley eventually agreed.

“You swear?” Aziraphale stressed.

“Yes.”

“You won't let this ruin what we've built between us?”

“Aziraphale, you're freaking me out,” Crowley said sharply.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. “I swear, I won't mention it ever,” he said.

The couch seemed impossibly long all of a sudden. Aziraphale braved it, shuffling up towards Crowley.

Crowley didn’t move a muscle, just watched him, bemused, as he settled right next to him. Aziraphale took a quick breath then, in the face of Crowley’s curiously raised eyebrows, just did it.

He leaned in and quickly kissed the demon. A second passed as Aziraphale kissed him, just pressing his lips against Crowley’s, before Crowley seemed to snap into awareness. In the moments before Aziraphale withdrew, somewhat disappointed in the lack of internal fireworks and ground-shifting tremendousness that he’d imagined, he felt Crowley begin to press his lips back in response.

Aziraphale leaned away and thought about how best to apologise.

“Well, that’s not what I expected,” Crowley croaked. He had his eyes closed still and seemed tense, his expression unshifting as he spoke.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Aziraphale said weakly.

A few seconds passed in a tense silence as Crowley expression ran through several manifestations of thought. Once the confusion in his eyes faded, Crowley leaned back against the armrest and opened his arms, putting himself on display. If Aziraphale didn’t know him he would think the demon totally comfortable, utterly smug with this development. But he could see the pinch of confusion in his brows, the edge of tears in his eyes, the guarded stance of his collarbones.

Aziraphale thought about temptation again. 

“Angel,” he drawled in a casual air. “That was barely anything. If we’re gonna not talk about it, let's have something to not talk about.”

Well, Azirapahle thought, that made some sense. Crowley didn’t love him in return, that explained the lack of fireworks, but he was a demon and demons were prone to sin (lust is what he actually thought, rather than sin, but he didn’t want to so he forced himself to think of sin overall), so of course Crowley would be willing to spend his last night sinning. Aziraphale could get his own desperately wanted experience from him with no consequences. No comfort, either, but the lack of consequences could be seen as a comfort! If you turn your head and squint.

Aziraphale was willing to turn his head and squint for this.

Crowley was looking at him. Aziraphale couldn’t quite place his expression, it was usually easier to do so when he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He seemed his usual note of fond, but anything else was guarded. 

Aziraphale leaned back in and kissed him.

This time Crowley responded faster, his lips pressing back against Aziraphale’s. A few seconds passed like this before Crowley took some charge and wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s head, holding him lightly in place, and opened his mouth with intent.

Aziraphale copied him and suddenly felt like every nerve in his body was alight with love and something else that was new. Maybe sin (lust?)? Maybe just more love. It occurred to him that this might be the fireworks he’d expected earlier. He tried to feel his love and pour it into Crowley with his kiss, but he didn’t really feel like it was working.

Crowley clearly knew what he was doing, more so than Aziraphale at least. He kissed him like he had somewhere to be, like there was a train barreling towards them and this was all they could do. He wasn’t too far off it, really. Aziraphale tried to shake his thoughts away and focused on repeating what Crowley was doing, trying to learn how people kissed. Maybe if he could do it well enough Crowley would want to again. If there was a chance for an again.

It seemed to make a difference. Crowley’s hands resting against the back of his neck tightened a little, still light enough to escape from should he choose, but more present. Crowley licked Aziraphale’s lip and nipped at him and Aziraphale relished the attention.

It didn’t feel impersonal. Or maybe it did? Who was he to know the difference. Maybe this was just how demon’s kissed, like their heart and soul was in it. Aziraphale liked it. 

Aziraphale wiped the thoughts from his mind and kissed him.

Minutes passed, maybe more. Neither of them noticed the shooting star that passed.

Aziraphale considered it a few times before he did, then he nibbled lightly on Crowley’s lower lip, holding it in place a moment longer than Crowley had meant to leave it. A small, high pitched whimper sounded in Crowley’s throat and Aziraphale was overjoyed to have caused it. The world tilted dramatically.

They made an odd sight, Aziraphale in a cozy cream coat, one hand balled on his knee, the other still holding his glass of wine (although it was tipped to a perilous angle now), his head turned to accept the kiss bestowed on him. Crowley, shirt open, necklaces and tie dangling as he leaned across his and Aziraphale’s bodies to hold the angel in his hands and kiss him. They stayed like this for almost an hour, uncaring of the passage of time.

Crowley whimpered or moaned a few more times, each sound filling Aziraphale with an abundance of happiness. He had wanted to please Crowley and he felt like he might have. At no point did Aziraphale move to touch Crowley and Crowley didn’t advance his hands anywhere beyond Aziraphale’s hair. They just kissed. Aziraphale spent some time lamenting that Crowley didn’t love him back (of course he wouldn't, it was a silly, self deluding hope) because this really was so nice. 

He’d rather foolishly hoped for an admission of something good from Crowley, something grander than fondness. He was content with their friendship, but if he could have this too? That would be heaven (the good kind of heaven, not the real one).

As the earth moved and the starscape shifted the thought solidified in Aziraphale that this was a pleasant way to spend a last night with a friend.

Added to the list of reasons to want to survive was the possibility that he could kiss Crowley again. Add it to the odd dance they did. Aziraphale didn’t particularly want to sin with Crowley, he wanted to love him, but he would take what he could get.

They had become more like each other as the years passed, Aziraphale thought with some small satisfaction. Not enough to survive hell fire or holy water, but certainly the lines had blurred. 

“I’ve had a thought,” Aziraphale said suddenly against Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley groaned, his head moving in such a way that Aziraphale read as him rolling his eyes. “I must be doing something wrong then,” he said lowly, returning to kiss Aziraphale more.

Aziraphale pressed his hand against Crowley’s chest, keeping him at a small distance away. Crowley obeyed reluctantly. “No, no you’re-” he stopped the compliments he was about to pile on, if he started to be honest he may be too honest. “The prophecy,” he explained.

The light, happy glint in Crowley’s eyes dimmed and Aziraphale was sorry to have done that. “Ah,” Crowley said throatily, as if he’d forgotten all about it. He withdrew his hands from the back of Aziraphale’s neck and Aziraphale sorely missed the contact. But he didn’t comment. It made sense, it was over and Crowley was done with him. Back to normal.

Aziraphale sat up, moving away from Crowley. For a second he thought Crowley was chasing him, leaning forwards in time with his scoot back, but then Crowley relaxed against the arm rest, fiddling with the sunglasses he’d just picked up. Aziraphale felt a swell a misery.

“When all is said and done,” Aziraphale paraphrased, “Choose your faces wisely, for soon you’ll be playing with fire.”

Crowley was staring at his glasses. “Can I ask you something about what just happened?” He muttered, his voice almost silent. Hurt. Aziraphale filled with guilt at having thrown such a spanner in their relationship. Perhaps if he ignored it long enough it would go away.

Aziraphale froze. “You swore,” he said plaintively.

“I did, but Aziraphale-”

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. Crowley stared at him, his eyes wide and beautiful and sad. “Please?” Aziraphale begged. He didn’t want Crowley to turn him down, not so finally. It was good of him to want to, to be honest, but now at least he could pretend they might kiss again. Now that he’d had this thought he may have to face Crowley in the morning, might have to  _ be _ him, he couldn’t do that through a haze of heartbreak.

Crowley looked wrecked. Aziraphale decided to take pity and change the topic for him.

“My idea?” Aziraphale said cautiously in an effort to redirect the conversation.

Crowley nodded and put his glasses on. “Right,” he said, inviting Aziraphale to speak. 

Aziraphale did speak, laying out his risky plan as clearly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say about this chapter except that They Are Both Fools


	6. Lust and Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to now! Back to Crowley pov!  
It's about two months and a few weeks on from armageddon't now, just as an fyi. Also, things get steamy in this chapter, so, you are warned

“Got you a present,” Crowley said by way of greeting. He flung the smartly wrapped book-shaped package at Aziraphale, smiling at the panicked expression on the angel’s face as he scrambled to catch it. 

Aziraphale readjusted his collar and studied the rectangle. “What is it?” He asked.

Crowley had kicked some books off a seat once before and had had to sit through a twenty minute, increasingly irate lecture on the cost and care of good book bindings. So now when he was faced with a few old looking books on his couch he carefully picked them up and placed them on the floor. He did so now, then sat on the couch. “A horse,” he answered without even an ounce of sarcasm. “Open it.”

Aziraphale frowned with a knowing suspicion. “It's not Lady Chatterley's Lover, is it?” He queried warily. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No, just open it,” he ordered as he kicked his legs over the edge of the couch and lay down on the inordinately comfortable pillows Aziraphale owned. 

There was some rustling as Aziraphale pulled the sticky tape off. Crowley watched expectantly and was rewarded by the sound of a short rip as Aziraphale’s best effort to not tear the brown butcher paper were thwarted. Aziraphale’s lower lip poked out in a pout as he tried to save the rest of the worthless wrapping. Crowley chuckled at the effort. 

“Fifty Shades of Grey,” Aziraphale read doubtfully as he lifted the book.

“Go ahead, I'm just gonna close my eyes for a minute,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale glanced at him, slowly taking in his exposed, stretched position on the couch. Crowley frowned back at him, he always checked him whenever he laid down. He hadn’t gotten mud on Aziraphale’s furniture since the 1200s, but he still received this close, lingering study. Forgiven but not forgotten, apparently. 

Aziraphale finally tore his gaze away and opened the book. Crowley let his head fall so that he was facing Aziraphale, so he could watch his reactions from behind his glasses. He wasn’t totally sure that this was a good way to go about things - he wasn’t sure there  _ was _ a good way to go about this - but his angel has asked so he would try. Even if it made him more stressed than a bee trying to decide if it should sting someone.

After a few moments Aziraphale frowned. “You know, I'm not sure she likes her friend,” he muttered. Crowley didn’t say anything, pretending to have fallen asleep.

Not long passed at all before Aziraphale’s exasperated sighs overflowed into another quiet comment. “Crowley, this is very badly written.”

Crowley let out an unconvincing snore. 

Aziraphale spun his chair so that his back was to Crowley, disappointing Crowley greatly. There was some odd rustling and flicking of paper before Aziraphale turned back around with such a beautiful, cheeky grin that Crowley was almost so distracted as to not see what he held.

Aziraphale cheerfully threw his hastily constructed paper aeroplane at the demon. Crowley raised a hand to catch it but missed and the aeroplane flew confidently past Crowley’s head without touching him. Aziraphale frowned, either annoyed that Crowley had been faking, or that he had missed with his attack. Crowley sat up, taking off his glasses. 

“What?” he snapped gently.

“Have you read this?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley tucked his glasses into the front of his shirt and lay back down. “Of course not, but it'll teach you a few things, keep going,” he instructed.

Aziraphale looked back at the book. “I'm not interested in reading about two humans meeting each other,” he said in bemusement.

“Angel, please,” Crowley groaned. He locked eyes with Aziraphale and thought pleading thoughts.

Aziraphale’s unimpressed expression melted slowly. “Very well,” he huffed.

Crowley smiled, making sure it was touched with enough sarcasm to hide how warmed he was that Aziraphale could agree after just a look. He hadn’t even tempted him, just asked. 

Aziraphale opened the book again and returned to reading with a few small huffs of complaint. Crowley gazed at him, trying to stay aware enough to close his eyes if Aziraphale started to turn towards him. 

The angel had relaxed into his chair, the dim light from the lamp behind him lighting the edges of his curled hair. Crowley looked fondly, admiring the slightly unkept appearance he wore now, the worn soft socks and slightly too large jumper. How his eyebrows quirked in a small frown as he read, the way he thumbed the next page of the book for a moment before he turned it. 

He wondered what Aziraphale was thinking, if he’d hit the juicy bits of the book the sales lady had promised it contained. He’d had no real ideas (well, he had one idea, a much more personal approach, but it didn’t warrant serious thought) on how to get Aziraphale to succumb to lust, but he’d googled for ideas and had come across references to this book. It was as good a go as any. If this didn’t work, at least he’d taken a shot. He wasn’t fully convinced Aziraphale would fall for this particular sin, especially not with the embargo on conversation. And Crowley wouldn’t risk anything, he meant to tread safely in this area.

Aziraphale licked his thumb and slowly turned the next page. Crowley relaxed against the couch and watched, feeling warm. 

Aziraphale sighed and Crowley quickly closed his eyes so that he could reopen them lazily when Aziraphale looked. “Crowley, what is going on in this book?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley opened his eyes lazily. “Tell me,” he invited. 

Aziraphale frowned. “He's cancelled his meeting to talk to the young woman.”

Crowley frowned. “What? You've been read for five minutes already and they haven't…” He paused, not wanting to give it away. “Keep going.”

Aziraphale glowered at him. Crowley tipped his head to the side and mouthed  _ come on  _ pleadingly. Aziraphale huffed and turned the next page with a flourish.

Time slowed and the air was heavy and kind. Crowley spent a few seconds trying to memorise this moment, then realised what he was doing and spent another minute thinking about bad things like white chocolate and non-alcoholic larger.

“I finished chapter one,” Aziraphale announced, looking up before Crowley had a chance to look nonplussed. Aziraphale seemed to think nothing of his soft gaze. “Crowley, I appreciate the thought but I'm not sure this is my style.”

Crowley sat up with some difficulty. “What did you think?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I'm confused.”

“What confused you?”

Aziraphale tapped the back of the book with his thumb. “She asked him so many questions about his work but I'm still not clear on what his company does,” he said.

Crowley frowned, then shook his head to bring his thoughts back on topic. “But the sex made sense?” He confirmed.

“What?” Aziraphale asked sharply.

“What?” Crowley repeated back to him.

Aziraphale’s hand flattened against the book. “You bought me- you bought me pornography?”

Crowley threw his arms open innocently. “Good a place to start as any,” he said mildly. He could tell already that this hadn’t worked, perhaps it was time to move onto envy. He could open a rival book shop, maybe.

Aziraphale’s thumb tapped the book more sharply, the sound loud in the quiet room. Crowley thought hard for a moment, trying to come up with a quip that would break the slightly awkward mood that had descended. He felt like he’d massively mis stepped, but he wasn’t sure which step had been wrong. 

Aziraphale had blushed now, but it wasn’t as pleasant a blush as usual to Crowley’s eyes. It made him uncomfortable.

“I'm not interested in humans,” Aziraphale muttered, looking at the book warily.

Crowley laughed bitterly. Two for two, apparently. “Well there aren't any angels around, so I don't know what you want!” He said, trying and failing to stop himself from sounding entirely defensive.

“It's rather obvious, Crowley," Aziraphale said, the touch of disdain in his voice enough to kill any enjoyment Crowley still harboured for this conversation.

Crowley stammered for a second, struggling to know what to say. Aziraphale glowered through his bright blush, but didn’t interrupt. “It's not!” Crowley said finally.

Aziraphale thumbed the outside corner of the pages of the book, then suddenly put the book on the table behind him. He crossed his arms and hooked one ankle across his other, glaring down at his feet. “You,” he mumbled, sounding almost reluctant.

Crowley stopped, everything about him stopped. Terror filled him. He squashed the feeling. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, his eyes darting quickly across his form before he looked away.

“I- You-” Crowley struggled. “When- Can I talk about that now?” He asked, his voice finally sounding as stressed as he felt. 

Aziraphale glanced at him once, twice, three times, then nodded. He knew what Crowley was asking, of course. 

“That was about me?” Crowley said hoarsely. “Not just something you- you wanted? Regardless?”

Aziraphale’s blush worsened and he bit his lower lip, considering what to say and how to say it. “I certainly don’t want to just- just _ sin _ for no good reason,” he artlessly dodged.

Was Aziraphale saying- ? What other reason was good enough for sin? Crowley hoped he wasn’t just projecting but he felt an awful lot like Aziraphale was talking about love.

“You could want that with me?” Crowley said, expressing his thoughts badly. “You _ do  _ want that?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “If I can feel it at all, I don’t know. But I can only- I can only imagine you, my dear,” he finished quietly

Now Aziraphale was flirting with him? Crowley’s mouth went very dry. He couldn’t keep up. If five kids were playing keep-away with a ball, Crowley was the ball. “You’ve imagined me?” 

Aziraphale looked at him in something that resembled fear. “Oh, now,” he muttered. “We really needn’t be like that.” He stood up and began collecting rogue books and returning them to their rightful spot in the shelves. Crowley could see his hands shaking as he moved the books. So, not flirting after all.

Crowley shut his mouth. This was delicate and he didn’t know what the right thing to say was, so he said nothing at all. He had imagined Aziraphale nearly every damn night since, maybe he should say that. Or maybe that would be too lustful, too much of a sin. Remind him of their differences too much. Crowley was staggered that Aziraphale wanted him too, he had been so far beyond just in love with him for so long, he was terrified if he said something wrong he would mess it up and it would be gone. He needed to respond, but he didn’t know what to _ say _ . 

Aziraphale potted around in silence for a minute before sighing and looking at Crowley. Crowley wasn’t sure what expression was on his face right now, but whatever it was it seemed to sadden Aziraphale. 

“Sorry,” Crowley said immediately, because he was. 

Aziraphale smiled with a cringe and joined Crowley on the couch. Crowley scrambled to get his limbs out of the way so he could sit. 

“Am I going too fast for you, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked with a sly humour.

“No,” Crowley said throatily, defensively. He glanced at Aziraphale doubtfully, but the angel just looked fond. “No,” Crowley repeated more surely. 

Aziraphale wasn’t about to announce that he was in love with Crowley, Crowley could accept that. It wasn’t how they communicated. Aziraphale said one thing and did another. He said the Arrangement was sinful and beneath him, then turned around and completed Crowley’s work for him. He said he didn’t even like Crowley, then risked his entire existence to chance keeping him alive. He insisted he wanted nothing, but flushed with pleasure with every small gift Crowley had brought him. Crowley couldn't trust Aziraphale’s words, he had to trust his actions.

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s knee, his meaning clear. As soon as his hand landed all the small bits of confidence in him seemed to wither as he looked at the demon with large, scared eyes. 

“Are you sure about this, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale breathed in, then breathed out, and Crowley felt his belief in this development begin to fade before Aziraphale finally said, “I believe so." 

Crowley smiled. Well, then. He could pretend he wasn’t wildly thrown by this development. He’d really thought that it had just been a scratch Aziraphale had wanted to itch, not a…  _ declaration _ . But a declaration it was and if Aziraphale wanted to approach it like this, well, it was better than Crowley’s plan of simply never discussing it. He could meet Aziraphale on this battlefield. "You're seducing me rather well," he said conspiratorially.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. "Well, you know, I did attend quite a few of those Greek plays."

Crowley laughed weakly. Aziraphale's hand still sat on his leg, stopping the intimate possibilities from fading.

Crowley sat silently, staring at the angel next to him. Time passed the way it did.

Aziraphale smiled at him suddenly, without prompting. That was confirmation enough for Crowley. He was somewhat relieved that Aziraphale wasn’t saying _ I love you _ , that could very well be too much for Crowley. This silent message already had Crowley shivering, his heart racing.

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand, squeezing it once before letting go and trailing his hand up the finely woven sleeve of his cream coat. Crowley felt electric, like he barely had himself in check. His fingers reached the edge of Aziraphale's collar and past, softly tangling in his curls. Crowley sighed to himself, deeply pleased to feel that again. Crowley didn't lean forward so much as he pulled Aziraphale to him, pressing their lips together gently. 

Crowley pulled away, meaning to look into Aziraphale's eyes and give him a chance to pause this or stop it entirely. But Aziraphale has his eyes shut and when Crowley pulled back the angel chased him, kissing him again. 

Crowley relaxed, kissing him, letting it grow more heated as it did. He was pretty pleased with himself, he was turned on for sure but it wasn't overwhelming him like he'd expected. He was far too focused on ensuring that Aziraphale was okay.

Aziraphale hadn’t panicked the morning after they’d kissed like Crowley had half expected him to, and now had come back to ask for more. Crowley felt confident taking some initiative.

He put his spare hand on Aziraphale's knee and slid it to the inner side of his leg. He wasn't anywhere too risque, but it was certainly more intimate than familiar.

Aziraphale's fist that had found its way to Crowley’s chest relaxed, two of his fingers resting against the exposed skin of Crowley’s chest. Crowley had never been more pleased that modern fashion allowed for a low cut shirt. 

Crowley bit Aziraphale's lower lip extremely softly, just barely dragging his teeth across his skin. Aziraphale clenched Crowley's shirt, holding him in place. Crowley kissed him again, harder, delighted to find that Aziraphale offered up his bottom lip eagerly this time. This hadn’t happened last time, this was more. Crowley bit him with more intent, not hurting him but certainly more forcefully. Aziraphale moaned, a small, desperate moan that did away with all of Crowley's thoughts of self restraint. 

Crowley's body flooded with lust, immediate need coursing through him faster than the best of poisons. He tightened his grip in Aziraphale's hair and on his leg, eliciting another delightful shiver from him. He forced himself to wait, to be patient, to kiss without excitement, without temptation, to let Aziraphale lead. 

But Aziraphale didn’t slow him down. His fingers scrabbled on Crowley’s chest, keeping him close. He kissed him back, his method less skilled than Crowley’s, but just as keen. Just as hot.

Crowley ran his hand up Aziraphale’s leg, stopping just shy of too far, resting against the inside of his upper thigh. Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and pulled away for a moment. Crowley froze and paid close attention in case he’d stepped in it. He’d never touched Aziraphale anywhere like this, last time it had been a long while of very safe kissing, more muttering and sighing and softness. Now Crowley was moving with some intent. Carefully, but with clear intent.

Crowley backed off. As his hand withdrew Aziraphale kissed him gently, with a touch of gratitude. No touching yet, Crowley thought to himself. 

Aziraphale kept kissing him, the gratitude quickly fading from the tone as they simply continued. Crowley didn’t take another first step, but let Aziraphale lead again. To his surprise, Aziraphale did lead. Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s chest remained, but his other went to Crowley’s hip, hovering uncertainly a few centimetres from his skin. After another few inviting kisses from Crowley, Aziraphale carefully placed his hand on Crowley’s waist. Crowley chuckled to himself, almost embarrassed by how overwhelmed the simplest touch was to him.

Aziraphale heard him chuckle and paused. “What?” He asked warily.

“Nothing,” Crowley said quickly, “Nothing, it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

Aziraphale’s grip on him tightened a smidge aggressively and he pulled him closer, like he was making a point. Crowley’s giddiness from a moment ago went into overdrive as Aziraphale expertly manhandled Crowley into his lap. 

It took a second of furious thought to keep himself from grinding down onto Aziraphale. Instead he managed to hold himself back, sitting straddling Aziraphale’s thighs, but keeping a hint of distance between their bodies. 

Aziraphale was pulling at him, though. Crowley had both hands in Aziraphale’s hair now, playing in the light curls, occasionally massaging the back of his head. Aziraphale had his hands on Crowley’s hips, constantly pressuring him closer. Crowley accepted it, leaning in, pressing his body against Aziraphale’s, their kisses growing in intensity.

Crowley was not being as well behaved as he’d’ve liked. Aziraphale hadn’t said stop, though. To be honest Aziraphale was encouraging him now.

Crowley pressed himself against Aziraphale, aware that in a few minutes he’d be too turned on to keep his wanting hardness at bay. He felt a moan bubbling up as Aziraphale started to bite his bottom lip in return, but he held it down, not wanting to overwhelm his angel.

Aziraphale brought his hands in, his thumbs slipping into the dip in Crowley’s hips. He dug in, feeling the tender bit of body. Crowley bucked a little in surprise, the sensation shooting pleasure through him. He was moaning now, nothing he could do about it. 

Aziraphale kept the pressure up, varied but persistent. His fingers wrapped around Crowley’s hips, holding him close. In the corner of Crowley’s vision, the thermometer for greed spiked a little. Crowley figuratively stumbled, he hadn’t expected greed. It was confusing, but not entirely unwelcome. Aziraphale could be greedy with him if he wanted. Crowley would just be lustful in return.

Thankfully, before Crowley could tip further into lust than he wanted to, Aziraphale interrupted them.

“Okay, I think- I think that’s enough,” Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley pulled away like he’d been burned, hastily disentangling himself from his place on Aziraphale’s lap. “Right,” he agreed, “right you are, yeah.”

Aziraphale was busily tidying and flattening the creases and folds that had formed on his jumper, occasionally glancing at him from out of the corner of his eye. “Just for now,” he said quietly.

Crowley shut his eyes and focused on breathing, on controlling the flames of lust pushing him back towards Aziraphale. Patience, he could be patient. He’d never had to be patient before, he’d always just been hopeless. He’d flirted with Aziraphale, he’d expressed love and support and sacrifice. A couple times a century for the last thousand of years or so he’d given Aziraphale an example of his feelings, given the angel a chance to accept them or return them. Of course it hadn’t happened, and he hadn’t expected it to happen now. And now Aziraphale needed him to hold back, to move forward slowly, to be patient. He could do it, he just needed to close his eyes for a minute and think about patience. 

For some, bells rang.

When he opened his eyes Aziraphale was watching him fondly. “You’re being patient,” he said softly.

“I’m trying, sheesh,” Crowley complained, using his defensive tone to hide the moment of vulnerability he didn’t want Aziraphale to see.

“You’re succeeding, my friend,” he said with a slightly sad smile.

Now that Crowley had a handle on his own feelings he noticed the little thermometer of greed holding steady where it had peaked earlier. “Why’d you want to stop, then?” He asked. Both his demon senses and his own familiarity was telling him that Aziraphale had enjoyed himself.

“I didn’t-” Aziraphale paused, interrupting himself with a chuckle. “I don’t want to go too fast,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, my angel,” Crowley said, knocking Aziraphale’s hand aside as he threw his arm over his shoulder. Aziraphale looked at him curiously, with a touch of surprise. “Knowing you, I don’t think there’s a chance in Hell- or anywhere, for the matter- of us moving fast here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smaller bait and switch here. Crowley is pateint, but Aziraphale’s asexual so he’s not tipping into lust any time soon lol. He’s got a scratch to itch with Crowley, but it’s not sex exactly. Just intimacy and physical contact, at long last, and also a desire to get Crowley worked up. 
> 
> I’m not ace at all so to any ace people reading, if my descriptions are off in some way i’m very sorry and i am absolutely trying my best! If there’s something you think i’d appreciate knowing please get in touch, im on tumblr w the same url, and im keen to write asexuality well and im friendly and im chill receiving constructive feedback, especially about this
> 
> The first chapter of fifty shades is freely accessible online, so I had a laugh reading that to myself and pretending to react like Aziraphale would. Boy oh boy that's a challenging read. And they don't fuck in the first chapter, I was kinda surprised tbh
> 
> Also I dunno how many of you follow me on tumblr or anything, but I did this picture https://sleepymccoy.tumblr.com/post/186689794739/tinysongdinosaur-tehrenb-sleepymccoy a while back which is of this scene! It just got too in my head. It's just my take on this bit:  
The angel had relaxed into his chair, the dim light from the lamp behind him lighting the edges of his curled hair. Crowley looked fondly, admiring the slightly unkept appearance he wore now, the worn soft socks and slightly too large jumper. How his eyebrows quirked in a small frown as he read, the way he thumbed the next page of the book for a moment before he turned it.


	7. Envy and Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale kissed last chapter, so no more opportunities for miscommunication, right? Right??

Crowley had caught himself whistling as he walked down the street towards the bookshop a few days ago. A cheerful whistle, one not designed to annoy someone nearby trying to have an important phone call or confuse a tradesman who uses whistles to communicate. A happy whistle that made the young mother he passed smile warmly at him. 

He’d stopped, of course, when he’d realised. But it hadn’t really bothered him the way it ought.

It had been two weeks since they’d kissed the second time. The more honest time. Crowley had all but forgotten his project to make Aziraphale sin, he was far too focused on this shift in their relationship. It wasn’t huge, it was bigger than huge in that it was small. Crowley didn’t initiate their kissing, he didn’t feel confident enough that he would pick the right moment, but Aziraphale had pushed him against a door in a pleasant and dramatic show of affection last week, and just yesterday had kissed his hand after Crowley had made him some tea. Other than the small moments like this, nothing else had changed. They hadn’t discussed anything, they didn’t need to. They understood each other. Crowley loved Aziraphale, he always had and always would. And Aziraphale, for whatever reason, was okay with that. More than okay, he seemed to welcome it. 

Crowley was over the moon with happiness. 

Crowley felt less of a need to give himself an excuse to be in Aziraphale’s company, so they spent even more time together. Today they were at a cute underground dessert bar that had popped up recently. Crowley was enjoying a heavily liquored coffee as Aziraphale tried out a few different desserts.

“I just- I enjoyed the -” Crowley paused, trying to remember the word. Aziraphale waited patiently, relishing his  crème brûlée . “The Renaissance,” he finally managed. “I think it’s called that now,” Crowley said vaguely to himself. He looked at Aziraphale and refocused, continuing with his point. “14th century over, new generation grown up and creating, it was great-”

“Why did you dislike the 14th century, anyway?” Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley paused. Had he told Aziraphale about that? Must’ve at some point. “Hmm?”

“You mention it all the time, it wasn’t so bad,” Aziraphale said mildly, working on breaking the rest of the top of his  crème brûlée into well sized pieces.

“Where were you?” Crowley asked in an effort to stall or maybe completely redirect the conversation. He hated talking about the 14th century.

“India, mostly,” Aziraphale said through a mouthful of unhurriedly enjoyed  custard . “There was a new sovereign power or something and I was hanging out for the-” he interrupted himself and coughed, finishing his sentence differently to how Crowley suspected it had started. “For the good of humanity,” Aziraphale completed.

Crowley raised his eyebrows to show his doubt. Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders a bit to agree that he’d been caught out, but didn’t particularly mind. “They were trading a lot of very nice spices, the food was fusion, and it was exquisite,” he said.

Crowley grinned, leaning forward despite himself to be closer to the source of his enjoyment.

“And yourself?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley briefly considered playing dumb, or asking another question, or just not answering. But ultimately he knew Aziraphale would notice if he dodged and he’d just have to talk about it again later. Might as well get it over with.

“Oh, I was here,” he said casually.

Aziraphale looked around at the bank-vault-turned-dessert-bar they were sitting in. “I don’t think they’d built this back then,” he said innocently.

Crowley leaned away from him, glancing elsewhere with as much of a casual air as he could muster. “England in general, I mean.”

“Remind me, what was happening then?” Aziraphale asked. “I get my centuries muddled.”

“Black Plague,” Crowley said shortly.

Aziraphale’s ongoing focus in his dessert stopped as he more seriously considered Crowley. “Oh dear,” he said, taking in Crowley’s uncomfortable air.

Crowley tried to shrug his mood off and make light of things. “That’s not why I didn’t like it, though,” he said with the false half of a grin.

Aziraphale looked very sad. “Of course not,” he agreed in a tone that implied he didn’t believe him one bit, but in fact felt quite sorry for Crowley.

“The dirt, for one,” Crowley said, his false humour failing under Aziraphale’s kind and sad eyes. “And all the religion and- and God stuff.” His gaze was upsetting Crowley more than he needed to be, he could think about the 14th century with anger, but this kind of serious acknowledgement was just shit. “It all got very tiresome, the public self-flagellation and end-is-nigh criers.” Crowley tried to say is like it was a joke.

Aziraphale nodded. “That must’ve been hard,” he said, like he was saying something else.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Crowley said reluctantly. Aziraphale stopped, instead looking sadly at his half finished dessert. He seemed to perk up at the sight and had another mouthful.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Aziraphale asked after a few moments had passed and Crowley had begun to think they might be about to change the subject. He tried not to sigh too loudly as Aziraphale stayed the course.

“They weren’t letting people leave,” he dodged

“You wouldn’t need a boat, dear.”

Crowley paused. He liked being honest with Aziraphale. It didn’t always go well for him, but he liked it. And the angel was likely the only person who would understand, as he so often was. “I had people,” Crowley finally muttered.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighed. 

Both were momentarily distracted by the emotion of the other. Aziraphale sat amidst a haze of love, admiring the tinkling kindness in Crowley and vaguely wishing he could have more of it for himself. Crowley was thrown by a spike in envy that didn’t really translate to the conversation they were having. More jealousy than true envy, but why? Crowley glanced around, trying to figure out what dessert Aziraphale may have seen that had him so jealous but there was nothing obvious. He turned back to the table and continued the conversation.

“Didn’t really matter, of course, they were gonna die anyway,” Crowley said, not as flippantly as he’d’ve liked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quietly, like he understood that wasn’t the point. Of course he did.

Crowley mused to himself reluctantly, his mind wandering through the misery that was the 14th century, trying to find a spark of something good to share with his angel that would cheer them both up. Time passed and Aziraphale finished his dessert.

“There was this one kid,” Crowley said eventually as they were served some small after meal tea. “He was a genius, I swear, he carved a sort of recorder, I guess, out of just some old window frame. I have no idea how he did it, I thought he was just fucking around with a knife but then he made music from it? It was beautiful.”

Aziraphale looked at him sharply and Crowley got the distinct impression he’d just fucked up.

“You haven’t forgiven Her for it, have you?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley felt a spark of fury run through him and didn’t bother to squash it, She didn’t get that kind of respect from him. Anyway, apparently controlling your emotions was a virtue and he certainly wasn’t going to give God a virtue. “You think She deserves forgiveness from me?” He demanded sharply. “You think She gives a shit what I think of Her?”

“I give a - I care,” Aziraphale stuttered, rephrasing so as to avoid the swear word.

Crowley took a breath and answered as wholly as he could. “I haven’t forgiven Her for the _ Flood _ , Aziraphale, let alone anything that came after.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed with a sad realisation.

Crowley continued mindlessly. “You are the only person I love who She hasn’t killed yet, angel, and that’s hardly from Her lack of trying” he said furiously.

“I-” Aziraphale stopped, frowning mightily. He blinked a few times, looking at Crowey like he’d spontaneously turned into a potted plant. “You love me?” He asked without any useful tone to indicate his meaning.

Crowley was taken aback so much that he forgot his anger. “What kind of a dumb question is that?” He asked loudly. A few people turned to look at him, but lost interest after they returned to their original volume.

Aziraphale ignored the room entirely. “I was under the impression that you liked me, yes, but-”

“I mean, same difference,” Crowley interrupted. “Words are pfft, you know. Ngk. What’s your point?”

“But…” Aziraphale said slowly, unsuredly. “We’re friends,” he said almost apologetically, like he knew he’d denied as much a few months ago.

Crowley kind of wanted to disagree to spite him, but he wasn’t really sure about what Aziraphale was talking about here. They’d already done their love confessions, hadn’t they? It was unlikely that Crowley had walked away from a conversation and made that up, he had been too panicked about it. Aziraphale had said he’d wanted him, he was sure of it. “Well, yeah, that too,” he finally said as Aziraphale waited on him.

“But you love me?” Aziraphale stressed. “Actually love me?”

Crowley leaned forwards across the table, ignoring the tip of his scarf tie as it tapped the edge of his untouched tea cup. “‘Ziraphale,” he murmured, “I don’t want to come across like a school kid here, but we’ve been  _ kissing.”  _ He looked at Aziraphale seriously. Something was off. Crowley was starting to feel sick. “What did you think?” He asked very slowly. He had to trust Aziraphale, he had no other options left. If he had it wrong then that was more or less the end of things (again) and Crowley desperately needed things to be good. Mutual, he’d spent weeks thinking it was mutual, that was too long to be wrong.

Aziraphale went quite red quite quickly. “I thought it was, you know, a fun sort of sin,” he mumbled.

Crowley definitely felt sick. His skin was too tight. He leaned back again and tucked his hands under the table, clutching his knees to stop them from trembling. Aziraphale had said he’d wanted him, but he hadn’t expanded on that. Maybe Crowley  _ had  _ managed to walk away with a misunderstanding. “Is that what it is for you?” Crowley asked warily, his voice amost a whisper. Maybe a fortnight of thinking it was mutual was okay, there’d been a few days back in the mid 1600s, and again in the 1940s where Crowley had been mistaken, they’d weathered those. Aziraphale got offended or uncomfortable and left, but always came back. Crowley could survive this again.

At least that’s what the demon told himself as his heart quietly broke.

“No!” Aziraphale said loudly. It rang through the quiet cafe, causing people to look at them again. One waiter even glared. Aziraphale continued blindly. “No, I was trying to appeal to your worse side, but I-”

“I don’t-” Crowley interrupted, a bad thought striking him. He addressed his lap rather than look at Aziraphale. He’d never loved his sunglasses more than he did right now. “Would you have done the... stuff we’ve done if you’d known how I feel?” 

“How do you feel?” Aziraphale asked quickly, his voice unbearably tense.

“I don’t think I should,” Crowley pleaded.

“Please,” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh, please.”

Fuck Crowley wished he was talking about the 14th century. He’d write a dissertation on that rather than do this. But Aziraphale had asked, begged, so he would try. He searched his mind for a way to explain how he felt and came up short. He briefly entertained the idea of diving through the window and running off for a century or two, but he wasn’t sure he could get away with that again. Aziraphale had been a bit more instinctual lately and might chase him down.

“I’m not sure I have the words, Aziraphale,” he said quietly, hearing the small whine in his voice.

“Oh, dear, please try,” Aziraphale said so quietly. Crowley would try, he could never say no to his angel. He might move countries for a few years afterwards though. He’d never been to Australia, after all. Crowley looked up at last and saw Aziraphale leaning forwards across the table, his face open and hungry.

“I- you’re like my sun,” Crowley said with great difficulty.

“Your son?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Sun, like the star, the sun,” Crowley snapped.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, reworking his thoughts. “Go on.”

“I- fuck,” Crowley couldn’t figure out how to say this without it sounding like some bad poetry. “I’m gonna sound like a dumbass,” he admitted.

“What’s new?” Aziraphale muttered, his wide eyes at odds with the flippant insult.

“Hey!” Crowley said defensively through an unwilling chuckle.   
  


Aziraphale grimaced with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said. He waved at Crowley to continue, having a sip of his tea to prove his unspoken promise to keep quiet. The insult made Crowley feel a little calmer, a bit more normal.

“I orbit you,” Crowley said awkwardly. He closed his eyes behind his glasses, not willing to see what he was doing. He could pretend he wasn’t actually speaking to Aziraphale. “I want more of you, all the time. Not-  _ not _ in a sin way,” he stressed, raising his hands like he was proving his innocence. “I just want to be around you and to… soak you up.” He cringed, keeping his eyes shut. 

“I-” Aziraphale started to say.

Crowley waved at him. “No, that’s wrong,” he interrupted. He squinted his eyes open to see Aziraphale’s hopeful, trusting expression. “Hang on,” he said weakly, rolling his eyes at himself.

“You’re like- you’re like,” he struggled.

“I think I understand, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly.

“I don’t know how you could, that was horrid,” Crowley said wildly, looking anywhere but at the angel across from him.

“Well,” Aziraphale agreed politely.

“You’re the brightest thing in the world- in the Universe,” Crowley said. “I’d know.” He glanced at Aziraphale for a second and saw a small, soft smile on the angel’s face. His confidence faltered so he gripped his hands together on the edge of the table to bolster himself and stared down at his lap.

“And I don’t- I really don’t need much- want much,” Crowley said quietly, pretending he was speaking to himself. “But I adore you, completely, heart and soul. And, Aziraphale-” Crowley stopped. Aziraphale had reached across the table and taken his hands. They sat there, quietly, Crowley’s fingers slowly moving to intertwine with Aziraphale’s. 

“Aziraphale,” he repeated at a whisper. “Angel.” Crowley leaned forward, staring at Aziraphale, entreating him to understand. “Darling.” Aziraphale blinked, gazing back warmly into Crowley’s eyes. “Sweetheart,” Crowley croaked. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, realisation hitting him. All at once he looked like he might cry.

Crowley took a breath. “I don’t think I can go at it alone,” he said, “I need you around.”

“I can be around,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I- we don’t need to talk about this again,” Crowley said, shaking his head.

Aziraphale leaned towards him, holding his hands tightly. “I love you so dearly, Crowley. Most of my life has been spent trying to find a way to see you again,” he said simply. He reached out and touched the side of Crowley’s cheek tenderly, making Crowley jump slightly in surprise. Aziraphale ignored his response and touched Crowley’s lower lip gently with his thumb.

“You don’t have to-” Crowley said shakily.

“Shush, I want to,” Aziraphale said, still touching him.

“Ready for the bill?” The waiter asked pointedly, scaring the shit out of Crowley. Aziraphale snapped his hand away and loudly agreed, his face beet red at being caught so intimately. Aziraphale paid as quickly as he could, then hurried a grinning Crowley who had tears in his eyes out of the cafe in sheer embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg guys ive worked so hard on this fic im like stressing about it being done, holy shit. final chapter coming in an hour or two, imma have some food and do a proof read then post! now for my actual, prepared chapter notes lol.
> 
> How’s that for communication! Pretty piss poor, but given their track record I think they did well.
> 
> Kindness! Crowley is kind, I don’t think I need to explain that much. I think a lot of his day to day stuff is finding small ways to let himself be just a little kind, but he rarely goes all in. Sticking out the black plague despite how totally miserable it must’ve made him purely to keep some kids company is kindness of the highest order. It’s selflessness, it’s lovely.
> 
> In terms of Aziraphale’s flash of envy, he’s not jealous of Crowley being kind to people, but he is jealous of like the long amounts of time Crowley will spend with someone. He’s not grabby hands all mine no one can touch, but I think he’s gotten so used to Crowley leaving him (like constantly, Crowley will rock up without warning first, but he also tends to walk away first (he left first in the shakespeare scene, at the bandstand, i think he strolled off at the jesus thing) and Az wants him to stay) that hearing about Crowley staying somewhere horrible just because he didn’t want to leave a person would make Az a little jealous. Not jealous of the person, but jealous of the behaviour.
> 
> Also take this as my way of saying please PLEASE just communicate w your partners. Just say the words, it's so much simpler


	8. Last Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally get it all out

Unfortunately for Crowley, he had had to learn to drive. 

They were trying to perform less miracles, and while mostly this just meant he’d had to get slightly more organised about his life (fairly easy, he’d signed up to a lot of automatic delivery services and he now had more wine on hand than ever before) the biggest impact was on his driving.

He still sped, and went through red lights. The residual effects from using and abusing his powers before the failed apocalypse meant he was profiting from a bit of a police blind spot. Over all, though, he was slower and safer.

Aziraphale generally liked his new driving style. 

He’d failed his driving test the first time, but had passed the second after accepting that he had to pay attention. They’d made him take his glasses off for the photo, but he’d drawn them on in marker afterwards so it amounted to about the same thing.

The real upshot of this was that as he drove himself and Aziraphale back to the bookshop he had to focus on the road and couldn’t ask Aziraphale about the conversation they’d just had because he couldn’t turn and look at him to gauge his reaction. Multitasking was harder than he’d imagined.

They got steadily closer to the shop. Aziraphale hadn’t spoken, Crowley hadn’t seen him even look in his direction. Perhaps, Crowley thought, he should leave for a while, give Aziraphale the time he’d want to get used to this. Crowley was also battling with some overwhelming embarrassment and didn’t really feel like facing that.

They pulled up at the bookshop, the air heavy with silence after the quiet fifteen minute trip. 

They spoke at the same time, Aziraphale’s small, “Would you-?” overshadowed by Crowley’s blusterous, “I might-”

They tried again and failed, speaking simultaneously.

“Oh, pardon me.”

“What’s that?”

Aziraphale smiled at him tightly. “After you, my dear,” he invited.

Crowley sighed. “Well, I was just saying- that is, if you want some time- I might go home and have a kip.” He glanced at Aziraphale’s saddened face, trying to figure out if giving the angel some room was helpful. “I’m a bit tired is all,” he continued quietly.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said like the sound was a foreign word he was trying to pronounce without a guide. “Of course, if you’re tired you should… go.”

“Right, yeah,” Crowley agreed. That Aziraphale had agreed so quickly helped solidify that he’d made the right decision to take some space. Don’t go too fast and all.

Aziraphale undid his seat belt but did not get out. “When will I see you next?” He asked, his light tone smothered by something.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley mused. “How long d’you need?”

Aziraphale frowned at him, confused.

“Like... a year?” Crowley ventured when Aziraphale didn’t give him a hint.

“What?” Aziraphale said loudly, his eyes wide. Crowley scrambled away slightly in alarm at the shout. “A year? Why do you need _ a year  _ to nap?”

Crowley gaped. “I- b’you- nerrh- I’m tired,” he managed.

“But a year?” Aziraphale said, outraged.

“Well I slept- I slept for that century once,” Crowley said a tinge wildly and very defensively.

“You did?”

“I told you!”

“I thought that was a joke!”

“You did?”

“It was funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “How does one sleep for a century? Don’t you get worried about business?”

“I didn’t have any business.”

Aziraphale looked a little hurt at that. “Well,” he said, sounding both proper and pissed off. “If you mean to sleep for a _ year _ , then you’d best come in for a bit first.” He left the car.

“I can-” Aziraphale slammed the door behind himself, cutting Crowley off. Crowley sighed and got out, repeating himself immediately. “I can sleep for less, what do you want?”

“What do you mean what do I want?” Aziraphale snapped.

“Well, how long d’you need? I can set an alarm. Hell, you can call me when you want to talk, I’ll keep my phone plugged in.”

Aziraphale looked totally pissed off, his hands were balled into fists by his side as he glared at Crowley from across the top of the car. “I want to talk now,” he said, almost stamping his foot.

Crowley tipped his head, studying him. “You don’t need some time?” He asked in mild surprise.

“What would give you that idea?” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley stared at him. “I think you’re being a bit unfair,” he pointed out primly.

“Am I?” Aziraphale asked sarcastically. Then he paused, his small, frustrated movements stilling. He crossed his arms and glared at his shoes. “Yes, you’re probably right,” he admitted.

Crowley hadn’t expected that. “I am?”

Aziraphale smiled tightly at him and nodded his head towards the door to the shop. “Come inside, dear,” he invited unwelcomingly. 

Crowley nodded slowly, waiting for Aziraphale to lead him in. Aziraphale did no such thing and waited for him in turn. Crowley moved first, sauntering in his usual fashion around the car to the door and holding it open for Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale hurried in and turned on the lamp next to the door before it had a chance to shut and plunge them into darkness. Aziraphale stood before the lamp and addressed Crowley politely. 

“Would you like some tea? You look very uncomfortable,” he said.

Crowley was trying to ignore how like a halo the lamp was, it seemed like a rude moment for the universe to remind him. “M’fine, just, what is it?” He asked vaguely.

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked at Crowley wretchedly, like Crowley was being unfair. Then he turned away and began turning a few more lights on through the shop before coming back to stand before Crowley. He heaved a great sigh. “Well, I see what you meant about not having the words,” he said with a smile.

Crowley understood, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t earlier. He went to speak but his throat caught. He cleared his throat and croaked, “Say something.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. He nodded, closed his eyes for a tick, then spoke easily, like admissions of love were the simplest thing in the world for him. “Simply put, too simply, I’m in love with you. Have been for some time.” He looked at Crowley for a beat, barely a glance, then smiled in a slightly self-reproaching way. 

Crowley couldn’t really breathe, he could talk even less. He wanted to respond but instead he just stumbled, somehow tripping over his stationary feet. Aziraphale’s arm shot out and caught his forearm, helping steady him.

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly. “I didn’t think you would reciprocate so I have just… not brought it up.”

“Because I’m a demon,” Crowley whispered, completing the sentence without thought, then cringed because that was hardly a romantic response. He hurriedly tried to think of something to say to fix it, but Aziraphale’s thoughtful expression interrupted him.

“No, not really,” Aziraphale said slowly. 

Crowley’s thoughts stopped. “No?”

Aziraphale’s hand dropped down and he gently stroked Crowley’s knuckles. Crowley was impressed despite himself. He wasn’t sure he could stand without the support of the wall behind him right now, let alone touch the angel as fondly as he was touching Crowley. Aziraphale seemed to be fairly okay, Crowley thought, at least until he opened his eyes fully and looked at Crowley. His eyes were brimming with tears and Crowley could see the desperation and fear that matched his own.

“Because,” Aziraphale said hesitantly, quietly. “I’m fairly ridiculous, in my own way, Crowley, and I’m always a few steps behind you and out of place and I-” he grew quieter, the words only audible because of the silence in the room. “I seem to be quite a lot of what you dislike about the whole-” his hand twitched, indicating the roof vaguely. “Business.”

“No,” Crowley said quickly. “No, you make it worthwhile, you make them worth it, you’re-” Again, he didn’t have the  _ words _ . He had so much to say and he couldn’t say it. He tried to ask for help, but what came out instead was a pleading, “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale grinned at him, his entire face lighting up. Crowley grinned back, he loved that smile. Aziraphale stopped shifting and fidgeting and just smiled at him for so long that Crowley began to wonder if he’d accidentally stopped time, although it was really only a few seconds. Then Aziraphale took the half step to close the distance between them, his hands coming to rest tentatively on Crowley’s hips. 

“I think I ought to kiss you, dear,” Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley was filled with terror. He was so sure that was wrong. He’d misunderstood something again, surely. “You don’t have to do a thing,” he said to the floor.

“Just let me,” Aziraphale breathed, then seemed to think better of it. “If- if you want to? Do you want to?”

“Of course,” Crowley breathed. “Of course, angel, of course, of course, of-”

He’d meant to continue, to go on to express his worries, but Aziraphale interrupted him in the best way he could.

They kissed. Aziraphale pushed him the few centimeters it took to get him against the door, pressing his body against him warmly. Crowley couldn’t put his hands anywhere but on the angel, so he wrapped his arms around him and held tight. He loved it, he loved how enveloped he was. 

Aziraphale leaned away for a breath he didn’t need, strictly speaking. “I think we’ll be okay, my dear,” he whispered, then leaned in without giving Crowley a chance to respond and kissed him again. Crowley clutched Aziraphale’s back and began to relax.

  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  


Aziraphale had stopped kissing him a few minutes ago and strolled the two of them over to the couch to sit a bit with some tea. Crowley had lost his glasses some time while they’d been kissing and while he’d prefer to go back to that activity he couldn’t complain (he could, but it would be hollow) because Aziraphale was casually playing with the short cut hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck as if it wasn’t driving him crazy. Aziraphale was gazing off around the shop, politely ignoring Crowley’s efforts to not turn into a puddle of happy goo, then he had the nerve to stroke his thumb down Crowley’s neck along his spine. 

Crowley moaned. Then Crowley realised he’d moaned and blushed and hurriedly spoke, turning the moan sloppily into a hiss to pretend he’d meant to.

“Ssso I won, right?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale glanced down at him. Crowley sat up from his slumped position, regrettably knocking Aziraphale’s hand off his shoulder. “What’s that?” Aziraphale asked.

“The, ah,” Crowley waved generally, hoping the end of the sentence would figure out how to be words before he had to do something about it. “The sin versus virtue thing.”

“Did you?” Aziraphale’s hand returned to touching Crowley fondly, this time coming to rest on his forearm and rubbing small circles around the bump of his wrist. Crowley’s breath stuttered at the touch, but luckily he didn’t.

“Five out of seven, angel,” he crowed.

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said, “same.”

Crowley’s neck snapped with a speed and flexibility that wasn't human to study Aziraphale. “What? You didn’t-  _ What? _ ” He said loudly. He’d pulled his hand from Aziraphale’s grasp in his shock and regretted it now. Aziraphale seemed unbothered, however, and simply continued rubbing small circles with his thumb against Crowley’s thigh.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley warmly, with a spark of sarcasm. “I barely had to try, my love. I open the door and you stroll through all on your own,” he said kindly. Crowley wanted to rebut him but too much of him was taken with the endearment Aziraphale had used. Aziraphale’s smile grew as he shifted the topic away from the virtues. “I noticed lust,” he said mildly. 

“I didn’t- you didn’t- not lust,” Crowley managed. 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised . “Are you quite sure?”

“I- yes. I have a mercury thing that- you mean when we made out for- got heated?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Greed, that was greed,” Crowley corrected.

Aziraphale was quiet for a beat, his thumb still gently stroking Crowley’s thigh. “No,” he finally said, “I think it was- I feel like it was lust.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you’re just too good for lust,” he said huskily.

Aziraphale smirked at him, meeting Crowley's eyes confidently. “Well, I don’t think that’s it,” he said like that was an okay thing for an angel to say.

“It might just not be your thing,’ Crowley suggested. “That’d be okay.”

Aziraphale turned in his seat, facing Crowley more. His hand snaked up Crowley’s thigh to his hip, resting on the side of him, his thumb dipping just under Crowley’s shirt and against his skin. “But I certainly want you,” Aziraphale said.

Almost of all of Crowley’s mental capacity was taken up with feeling Aziraphale’s thumb on his skin, he couldn’t form thoughts before he spoke them. This was all just happening to him. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Crowley asked, then for the first time the flush of embarrassment he felt wasn’t immediately followed by a desire to run away. He didn’t want to leave.

Aziraphale paused, then confidently responded. “Yes. Well, I suppose I wouldn’t phrase it that way exactly,” he corrected.

“How would you phrase it?” Crowley croaked. He hadn’t expected such a resolute yes.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking at Crowley with a guarded gaze that slowly faded. “I want you to be fucked by me. I don’t particularly care about doing it, but I want to see you shiver beneath me,” Aziraphale said in something only slightly more than a whisper.

Crowley about died on the spot. 

Aziraphale took his stunned silence as an invitation and leaned over, pulling Crowley closer. Crowley was closer to a fluid than a solid now and moved with very little manipulation, especially as every time Aziraphale touched him it sent a spark of want through his body, making him more malleable than ever.

Crowley settled into place with one leg swung over Aziraphale’s thigh, wrapping in a borderline inhuman way around Aziraphale’s leg. Aziraphale’s confident grip on Crowley’s hips was at total odds with how overwhelmed Crowley felt. He wanted to shiver beneath Aziraphale. He wanted to tell Aziraphale that he wanted to. But Aziraphale wasn’t giving him a moment to  _ think _ , he was busy slipping both his hands under Crowley’s shirt and gently scratching his nails across his abdomen. 

“Bastard,” Crowley sighed joyfully through a freshly descended fog.

Aziraphale grinned at him and pulled him further to sit on his lap. Crowley tensed, worried he was misreading things and was going to mess it up, but Aziraphale’s persistent hands were so sure, so leading.

“Anything I shouldn’t do, dear?” Aziraphale muttered into Crowley’s ear. 

Crowley shivered at the contact, the feel of his breath, then shook his head. “Yours,” He said. “M’yours.”

One of Aziraphale’s hands quickly left his abdomen and flew to his cheek, cupping his face gently and maneuvering him to meet eyes. “And I’m yours, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley couldn’t process that so he kissed Aziraphale instead. His hands wrapped warmly around Aziraphale’s jaw, holding him close. Aziraphale kissed him back for a moment then pushed him slightly away and said, “Talk to me, dear.”

“What?” Crowley asked. He could barely see he was so flooded.

“Talk to me.” Aziraphale spoke like it was a plea or a prayer. He sounded rapturous.

“I don’t-” Crowley couldn’t figure out how to even say that he didn’t know what to say. “You want me to talk dirty to you?” He asked wildly.

Aziraphale trailed his hand down Crowley’s neck. Crowley’s body moved in response to his touch, leaning into the contact, trying to get more. Aziraphale carefully unbuttoned the top button Crowley had done up. “No, dear heart, just talk,” Aziraphale said more calmly.

Crowley’s vest was slowly being unbuttoned before his eyes and he had no idea how to address that, so he just let it happen without his interference. “About what?” He asked like it mattered.

Aziraphale slipped his hands under Crowley’s shirt again, the now open vest letting him explore further up his chest. “What was the other sin?” 

“I-” Crowley stuttered. “Envy. Earlier today. M’not sure what-”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “That one was for you.”

“Thags,” Crowley choked, the grateful word mangling in his throat as Aziraphale’s thumb brushed over his nipple.

"You’re welcome,” Aziraphale said with an unsubtle boatload of smugness.

Crowley thought about the word he wanted to say a few times before he spoke, he’d fucked up  _ thanks _ already. “No need to be sso magnanimous.”

Crowley felt more than saw Aziraphale’s chest moved in a quiet breath of amusement. Then Aziraphale’s hands both found his hip bones and his thumbs dug into that dip again and Crowley nearly melted.

“Fuck,” Crowley spat, tipping forwards to lean his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel,” he moaned into him. Crowley’s hands fell from the back of Aziraphale’s neck to land one on his waist, the other his thigh. Crowley used his new grip to help pull himself closer to Aziraphale.

“I always thought you called me that as an observation,” Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley shook his head, burying himself into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Convenient excuse,” he mumbled. 

Aziraphale’s hands trailed languidly across his skin, resting on the back of his waist and holding him tightly in place. Then, devilishly, Aziraphale began to drop small kisses against Crowley’s neck.

"Well," Aziraphale said, between kisses, his lips moving against Crowley’s skin as he spoke. "I got you on kindness, which rather suits you I think.”

Crowley responded mindlessly, thinking far more about Aziraphale’s lips than what he was saying. "M'not fucking kind,  _ kind _ is one of those four letter-"

"Four letter words, yes," Aziraphale interrupted. "I don't fully understand your point with that, but you're not wrong."

Crowley didn’t fully understand his point either, truth be told. "Not kind," he said quietly. Aziraphale kissed his neck languidly, then lightly bit his skin for a moment before letting go. “Oh, God,” Crowley moaned helplessly.

“Don’t blaspheme, my love,” Aziraphale murmured directly into his ear, chasing the comment with a quick flick of his tongue.

Crowley shuddered.  _ My love _ . He thought some very blasphemous thoughts. “Are you kidding?” He gasped.

"And I thought," Aziraphale said calmly, ignoring him. "That I might've encouraged a moment of chastity in you, but you were  _ patient _ instead. Which is really just so much nicer, isn't it?" 

Crowley’s vision was deeply yellow, his iris taking over and colouring the world. He ran a hand up Aziraphale’s side, slipping around his neck and holding on for dear life. “Nice,” Crowley repeated in a disgusted hiss that trailed off into a sound of languid pleasure. 

Aziraphale smiled at him fondly. More than fondly. “So I think that’s five each,” he said happily. 

“Wait,” Crowley said slowly, contemplatingly. Aziraphale politely stilled, not taking his hands off Crowley’s body, but pausing so that he could speak. “Did you sstop me kissing you the other day just to try and win a bet?”

Aziraphale scoffed at him.

Crowley leaned back to look at him but Aziraphale was avoiding his eyes. “A bet that wasn’t even a proper bet?” Crowley continued, incredulously. “Just a- you sstopped me for that?”

“Well, I was under the impression that you were only kissing me in the first place because of said bet,” Aziraphale said pointedly, a light blush returning to his face. 

Crowley’s head tipped slowly from one side to another, snake-like as he glowered at him.

Aziraphale leaned after him and reached up with a smile to tap Crowley’s chin, pushing his head back a little so he could kiss his throat. Crowley groaned, adoring how it felt to have Aziraphale’s lips on his Adam’s Apple as he did. "I've waited over ssix thoussand yearss to kisss you,” Crowley sighed, “And you-” Aziraphale sucked on the side of his throat, causing Crowley to forget what he was trying to say. He ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, relishing the opportunity to feel his curls fully. “It’sss unbelievable, angel, you're unbelievable,” he said, trying to admonish him but his tone came out more admiring.

Aziraphale clenched his fist in Crowley’s hair, but the short strands slipped through his fingers. Crowley decided to grow his hair out. Aziraphale tipped his head aside and met Crowley’s eyes with an expression that mixed embarrassment and humour masterfully. "I was very impressed," he pointed out with a weak smile.

Crowley spluttered a laugh. “Well at leasst there’s that!”

Aziraphale leaned against the back of the couch, gazing up at Crowley fondly. His eyes crinkled dramatically as he looked up at the slightly swaying demon in his lap. “Did you even want to stop?” Crowley asked, his hiss fading as Aziraphale stopped touching him.

“I don’t really mind either way,” Aziraphale murmured. He rubbed a thumb against Crowley’s knee gently. “It did go against my instincts some, see, I want to give you everything in the world you might want, my beautiful serpent.”

Crowley thought he was liable to melt. He sat on Aziraphale’s thighs, his heart still fast and his body warm. It was all becoming a little bit too much.

“Are you okay, dear heart?” Aziraphale asked with concern. “You look a touch pale. Perhaps that coffee you had didn't agree with you.”

Crowley tried his best to respond. “Mmpf”, he managed. He tried harder, laying on the sarcasm poorly. “Indigestion.”

Aziraphale nodded smartly. To Crowley’s pleasure his hands returned to Crowley’s hips and gripped him confidently. Then, to Crowley’s displeasure, he swung Crowley off, carefully and confidently manhandling back onto his own patch of couch. “Wha-?” Crowley gasped as he landed against the cushion.

“I'll get you a fresh cup of tea,” Aziraphale said as he stood up. 

Crowley scrambled. He flung himself over the armrest, one of his legs lost among cushions, the other taking his weight on the floor. He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist desperately. “It's not bloody indigestion,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale turned and smiled down at him. “I know, love, but I thought you might want a moment to yourself,” Aziraphale said kindly.

Crowley shook his head. “Never,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale looked very touched. He nodded politely, like Crowley hadn’t just opened his heart again. “Then I'll sit back down,” he said properly. 

He did just so, chuckling quietly as Crowley flung his legs over Aziraphale's, curling back around him and into the nooks and crannies of his body that he could find. Aziraphale waited for him to finish coiling, then wrapped a warm arm around his back and sighed contentedly. 

They sat for many hours. They discussed old things, and some new. Crowley chuckled, asking leading questions as Aziraphale chattered on about this and that. Aziraphale didn’t ask how his cup of tea never cooled or ran out, he accepted it and stayed in his seat, holding Crowley to him. They kissed some more, and talked some more.

The night drew to a close long before either of them acknowledged it. It was near dawn before Crowley left, muttering about bringing a plant or two over next time he visited. Crowley kissed Aziraphale first as he left, to both their joys. The demon’s belongings began to swiftly and subtly clutter up the bookshop. 

It was barely two weeks before a builder happened to show up at the shop, surprising both of them by conveniently offering his expert services in building a greenhouse on top of pre-existing heritage buildings. What a lucky happenstance, Aziraphale commented slyly to Crowley as he arranged payment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg guys thank you all so much <3 really really this has been a tonne of fun


End file.
